Expelled Out of the Blue
by navydave32
Summary: "The Jedi Trials come in many ways and at many times," Mace Windu began. "During these trying times of war, the Trials are endured in diplomacy and combat. This has led to more demanding trails and deeper consequences than before the war."
1. Out of the Blue

"I cannot trust a man to control others who cannot control himself."

* * *

The padawan stood looking out of the window at the surface of the Republic's capital planet, Coruscant. The massive city planet was beyond impressive. The impossibly tall buildings, the deep detail, the centuries old architecture, the surface, it was all amazing. The weather patterns were all precisely controlled. The golden color of the sun cast a nearly magical glow on everything building, every landing pad, spacecraft, and vehicle that flew. He shifted his red eyes out across to the sky criss-crossed with bustling traffic lanes.

It never ceased to surprise him how quickly things can change. It was only a week ago that he was on a far-flung planet in Separatist Space leading and fighting alongside clone troopers. They had taken down hulking spider droids, frigates, flown fighters, crushed buzz droids, leapt on top droidekas…and how he stood outside the Jedi Council chambers awaiting a meeting with the Jedi Masters.

He rested his hand on top of his leather belt and rubbed his index finger over the ridged pommel of his lightsaber. The design was the skeletal style used by Obiwan Kenobi and other Form Three users. He reflected upon his past as he took a deep breath. He had gone to the caves of Ilum with his master Plo Koon and found the kyber crystal that sung to him. When he found it, it was clear as they all were in their natural state. He had climbed past so many that laid there open and available to him, but they had not called to him. This particular one did. When he found it and meditated on it, he imprinted himself onto the crystal and the crystal onto him. Kyber crystals were a very, very strange thing. They felt alive. Finding his was almost like finding a long lost family member. He had built his lightsaber from a stock of parts all Jedi drew from. This particular design was not as ornamental as some like, but he really didn't care much about that. He preferred function and durability over looks.

He was shaken back to the present as the doors to the council opened. His Master stood in the doorway. Master Plo Koon was a tall Kel Dorian. His blotched orange skin, clawed fingers, and gun metal grey mask made him very intimidating. His personality, his deep wisdom, and mentorship, however was quite the contrary. Having blue skin, black hair, and red eyes, the padawan was striking in his own way. However, as he stood there looking at his master and the rest of the Jedi Council beyond him, it was he who was intimidated.

This happened any time one was "summoned into the council".

"It is time, my padawan," Master Plo said. "Enter."

As he stepped over the threshold, the doors closed behind him leaving them together. The Padawan stepped into the center of the council as his master assumed his seat. Around him were almost all of the Jedi Council members. He knew them all, but notably there was his master Plo Koon, Obiwan Kenobi, Mace Windu, and most notably was Master Yoda. The silence was broken by Mace Windu.

"The Jedi Trials come in many ways and at many times," Mace Windu began. "During these trying times of war, the Trials are endured in diplomacy and combat. This has led to more demanding trails and deeper consequences than before the war. You passed the Trial of Skill with your superior armed and unarmed combat. You passed your Spirit trial as you fought a battle of the wills in combat against Asajj Ventress. You passed the trial of Courage in the Battle of Felucia. You passed the Trial of Flesh with Master Obiwan Kenobi and myself at the Black Stall Station with exceptional skill and bravery."

Windu paused and gathered his next statement.

"Recently on Geonosis you faced the Trial of Insight," Windu continued. That was a new one on him. He didn't realize that battle counted as a trial. Windu continued. "During that battle, you led your troops against a sect of the Geonosians. However, once the campaign was finished and the strategic goal achieved, you continued into the catacombs and killed an unnecessary number of Geonosians, including one of their queens. Why did you do this?"

The padawan was caught off guard. This was the first he had heard of any issue with that campaign. He drew a breath.

"That is not accurate," he said slightly taken aback. "As soon as the campaign was won, we disengaged the Geonosians, rescued the Clones that had been captured, and returned to the surface. Then we linked with the main force," he recalled. "Are you concerned that I killed one of their queens?" he asked.

"That is why we are here, Mit'teem," Obiwan said. "Why did you kill the queen?" he asked.

"She was controlling her forces via telepathy. We had a telepathic battle, and she finally yielded."

"Was this before or after you dismembered her?" Windu asked. Mit'teem furrowed his brow. They had interviewed his clones.

"After," he said. "The Geonosians had waged an a very savage campaign against my men. They were literally picking them up off the ground and ripping them in half."

"This is war." Windu said flatly. "They are clones. That is their function if need be."

"It did not need to be, and they were men," he said quickly and with confidence.

"If it did or did not is beside the point, Padawan," Saesee Tiin interjected, a Jedi said to his right. Mit'teem turned to look at him and see his long horns pouring over his shoulders onto his chest. "What is of consequence is what you did afterward."

"You took revenge," Master Windu said. "Revenge is not the Jedi way." Mit'teem's red eyes shot back and forth as he recalled the event.

"There was no revenge," he said matter-of-factly. "I killed her, because I could read telepathic intent. She was beginning to tell the Geonosians to re-engage." He paused. "What I did _won_ the campaign."

"Why did you take your men into the catacombs in the first place?" Windu asked changing the subject.

"We were down to ten men, and we were being picked off out in the open, and neither the tactical nor strategic goal had been completed at that time. The clones have a term for that, 'close with and destroy the enemy'," he said confidence. "We were able to do both take cover and close with the enemy." There was a quiet pause in the Council. "Was it not prudent to press the attack until victory was achieved?"

"An emotional attachment you had to your men," Master Yoda said changing the subject again. "Everyone looked to the small, green figure. "Afraid of what the Geonosians would do to your men you were. That fear led you to hate of the Geonosians. Your hate led you to rampage. Down a very dark path this leads. Touched by the Dark Side, this event has been." That comment hung in the air.

 _An attachment to my men?_ he asked himself. He was confused; very confused. Master Kenobi was known for having a close relationship with his men. His master, Plo Koon had fought on many occasions to great risk to himself in order to save his clones. As far as leading down the Dark Side, Master Windu used Form Seven of lightsaber combat, a form that actually _drew_ from the Dark Side of the Force!

Was he missing something or was this actually hypocrisy?

"I don't understand. You all have these attributes in your characters and history," he said bluntly.

"This war has taxed us all," Obiwan Kenobi said. "It has challenged every one of us to our limits. It has caused us to skirt the boundaries between the light and dark. It is a battle we all fight every day." Kenobi paused and maintained eye contact with him. "It is a matter of control. If you cannot control yourself, how are we to allow you to control others?"

Mit'teem leaned his head back slightly. There it was. They didn't trust him anymore.

He understood the statement and the concern, but it did not ring true or consistent with him or other Jedi in the Order.

"It is the judgement of the Council that you be expelled from the Order."

His heart stopped and his mouth hung only slightly open as the breath left his lungs.

Expulsion? Was that really called for? Was that really necessary?

The questions raced through his mind. What of the other Padawans – the Jedi who had done so much worse than he? What of the "Chosen One" Anakin Skywalker himself? There were rumors that he had murdered an _entire_ village of locals on Tatooine!

No. He would not play the games. He brought his vision back and mentally leaned forward into the situation.

Plo Koon studied his padawan Mit'teem as he absorbed the information. The Jedi Master subtly probed his mind and felt its texture had a higher, more active grit to it than usual. Then, as Mit'teem looked back up and met Mace Windu's eyes, his mind suddenly went smooth. In fact it was as smooth as when Plo Koon had met with the captain of the ship off of which he had been recruited.

They needed to be careful. He was already doing a good job defeating their arguments. They needed to keep him off balance, but they may have lost that opportunity.

"I understand my actions," Mit'teem began. "However, how is this consistent with others in the Order? How do you let Anakin Skywalker get away with what he does? The rumors alone a terrifying."

Master Windu lightly massaged his chin with his index finger.

"I will give you this, Padawan," Windu said in consolation, there have been a lot of mistakes in this war. The Dark Side clouds much. General Krell. Assajj Ventress. The Senate guards. We have allowed too much darkness into the Order," he said pausing for a heart beat. "It stops here." After another long moment, Plo Koon rose from his chair and walked to the center of the chamber.

Mit'teem's attention was drawn to his master as he stood from his seat in the arc of chairs and approached him. He clenched his teeth and brought his eyes up to meet his master's face, his eyes concealed beneath the goggles of his mask. There was a long moment between him and his master. Plo Koon put his left hand on his padawan's right shoulder in a comforting gesture and outstretched his right with his palm up.

"I must ask for your lightsaber."

Mit'teem shut his eyes and pursed his lips. After a moment's hesitation, he reached for his lightsaber that hung at his side and ran his fingers over its grenade section. He tightened his grip around it and drew the weapon. He carefully held it in both hands. He looked down at it. The battles. The tens of thousands of droids he had taken down. The obstacles he had cut through. Crossing blades against the fallen padawan Assage Vintress. He rolled it in his hand and felt its weight for…possibly the last time. He carefully set it in his master's hand.

This was all so sudden.

"Padawan Mit'teem, you are hereby expelled from the Jedi Order. In consideration for what you have done for the Order, the Grand Army of the Republic, and the Republic itself, you will be given the full funding of education at the University of Coruscant," Windu said. "Your options are to appeal this decision at which time a tribunal will be convened. You will be afforded an attorney, and your troops will be called to testify as witness."

Mit'teem knew how that would play out. If they already concluded what they did without asking his side of the story, that means that this meeting and any other trial would be simply a formality. They would find him guilty. Windu continued. "Or you may accept our terms and go onto parole and build a new life."

"What are the terms?" Mit'teem asked as his eyes danced across the floor, his mind racing."

"The terms of your parole are as follows. You are to no longer refer to yourself as a Jedi Padawan or having ever been part of the Jedi Order. You must surrender use of the Force. You must speak of this to no one and never approach a Jedi unless he approaches you."

He knew that if he did not accept, they would hold a trial just for procedure and then either execute him or lock him up for the rest of his life. He spoke without meaning to.

"I accept your terms of parole."

"Then it is done," Windu said.

The commands echoed through him louder than any explosion. They were taking everything from him. He had been with the order nearly his entire life. They were even taking his past from him! Could they do that? He was looking in a direction but he could not see. He was locked inside this head with the suddenness and twist of his fate. He could barely breath. The hand on his shoulder squeezed, bringing him back to the moment. His master…no…he didn't even know what to call Plo Koon now.

"You will always be my protégé," the Keldor said through his mask. "Come. We have closed this chapter of your life. Now, we must open the next. The two turned and slowly exited the chamber. Mit'tem turned and looked over his shoulder at the Jedi Council for the last time as the door swung shut behind them.


	2. Finding a Way

Finding a Way

"Who we are never changes, who we think we are does."

The harsh, dry wind whipped across his face, and he squinted his eyes as the gunship descended through the air. The rumble of the drip ship's engines dopplered through their heads and bodies.

"Two minutes from the drop zone!" the clone pilot said through everyone's comm systems. The clones all had their helmets on, the blue skinned Jedi Padawan had small earpieces in. The craft began to rock with flack detonations around them. The clones looked at each other.

"Nothing we haven't seen before gents," he heard Commander Gray say through the comms circuit. The interior was suddenly lit with orange and yellow flashes as the gun ships on either side of them were hit with ground fire.

"Hold on back there!" the pilot's voice said over the comms line, "we're taking evasive action." The clones held the over grips tight as the gunship swung back and forth hard. Everyone felt in the pits of their stomachs as the gunship descended rapidly, very rapidly. Before they knew it, the overhead light turned green, and the sides of the craft slid open. The Jedi Padawan jumped out and the clones behind him. Before long, all twenty-four were on the ground behind him, and he was assessing the area.

The red dust flew into Mit'teem's face as the drop ship lifted back off. Missiles streaked through the sky as the clanker's anti-air fire intensified.

"Commander Gray, we need a tank on the ground to provide counter-battery fire!" Mit'teem said calmly into the comms circuit.

"Copy that, Commander," the clone trooper responded as he put his non-firing hand up to the side of his helmet opening a comm channel to the landing force. Mit'teem looked to the sky and saw a landing carrier taking heavy fire. There were blue flashes against its hull as the blaster artillery bolts wore its shields down.

Suddenly, one of its engines exploded in a flash. Mit'teem squinted his eyes as he saw the massive hyper drive engine detach from the bottom of the ship.  
To his left two tank lifters descended and dropped a pair of AT-TEs. The six-legged tanks got their bearings as the lifts raced away at a low altitude.

"Commander! Get the coordinates for the Separatists' artillery positions and coordinate with the tanks. We have to silence those guns. The last thing we need is starships falling out of the sky on our position!"

"Yes, Commander. Right away."  
The ground all around them rumbled. They looked toward the catacomb super structure in the distance, and it looked like a thousand green bolts rose into the air. As their ascent slowed, they could all tell the bolts were nosing over. This was artillery.

"Take cover behind me!" Mit'teem shouted. He drew his lightsaber and activated it. A bright yellow beam lanced out from the skeletal hilt. The clones piled up behind him as the bolts approached them at an incredible speed. As the bolts slammed into the ground and hurled chunks of dirt of all sizes into the air, Mit'teem forcefully deflected the ones he could. These were no small-time blaster bolts. This was field artillery. In order to counter their impacts, he swung his lightsaber like a hammer.

Over and over, he powerfully swung his blade deflecting the bolts to the side. The clones tucked their heads as the ground was turned into shrapnel. Dirt and rock shards danced off everyone's armor.

After fifteen seconds, the rain of bolts stopped, and Mit'teem lowered his blade and began to catch his breath. He looked to his left. One tank survived. It aimed its main gun into the sky at an angle and began returning fire.

Mit'teem felt something in the Force calling to his right. He looked over his right shoulder at a tall dirt spire. The sides of it crumbled, and bug-like creatures crawled out of it. Geonosians. Before he could warn his troopers, they flew down toward them with, armed and unarmed. He turned and shouted a warning toward his men, but it was too late. One of his troopers was impaled six feet from his right, and blood sprayed across his face.

Mit'teem shook awake. Without a lightsaber. Without armor. Without an army. In his bed, totally on the sidelines.  
The glow of Coruscant poured into the windows of his dorm room. He sat up and cleared his eyes, their soft red glow bright in the low light as they did on Geonosis. He pivoted on the bed and put his feet on the carpeted floor. He hung his head slightly and let out a sigh. He wondered how long the dreams would persist.

"Here and now," he said out loud to himself. "Here and now."

He remembered it was nearing midterms for his first semester. He was in the last week of class before dead week, the week where there was no class, instead just time to study. He stood up and stretched, flexing his entire body. The light of Coruscant fell over his muscular, blue torso. He let his arms fall to his sides and approached the window. He opened the slatted blinds all the way and looked out over the city's majesty. He took a deep breath and gazed over it. The city planet never ceased to amaze him. He ran his hand through his hair and began getting ready for his morning physical training before class. He pulled a light shirt on and strapped on his running shoes. He put his school ID card and room key card in a small, plastic sleeve and slid it into his pocket. It was back-day.

He stepped up to the door, it slid open, he stepped through. It closed behind him, and he held the key card up to the sensor, and the mechanism locked with a _click_.  
It had already been six months since he left the Jedi Order. He made his way through the building to the massive courtyard where he began to run. It was only a five-minute run to the gym, but it was enough to get him warmed up.

He slowed to a walk and opened the door to the gym. He scanned his ID at the entrance and walked through the turn-style. He walked through the lobby and went straight to the functional fitness room in the gym. After making his way through the hallway, he entered the room he was looking for. To his gratification, it was empty. He stretched his arms and back before he jumped up on a pull-up bar.

Grasping the bar with an over hand grip, Mit'teem pulled his chin up to the bar again and again. He pulled his body weight with only the use of his muscles. There was no aid of the Force. It was just him…and it felt good. He strained with the last as he gritted his teeth and reached his chin over the bar. Thirty-one. He slowly lowered himself down until his arms were locked out, and he dropped off the bar.

He was not going to lose the strength he had gained waging the war against the Separatists. While he was no longer part of the Grand Army of the Republic, he was plotting a way forward. He was a civilian. He no longer was able to fight, and he was no longer able to use the Force.  
His Master…his former master…had made it clear to him that if he would use the Force, he would be brought up on charges and prosecuted by the Jedi Order.

He lifted his right elbow over his head and grabbed it with his left hand and began stretching is side muscle. Force or not, thirty-one pull ups was no small feat. It begged cramps! He was three months into studying the science of astrophysics. Nothing like a Jedi Master, but he understood the Force well for his age. Now, he wanted to learn about the physics of the universe. His education in the Force was more on feeling and navigating an internal urge. Now, since he was closed to that, he was interested in to how the universe could be quantified and analytically understood.

He moved over to a cable machine and sat on its bench and set the weight to ninety-kilograms. He put his feet on foot pads, grabbed the hand grips, straightened his back, and began pulling his elbows behind his back. He repeated this twelve times as he thought about his academics. His political science professor was an interesting one. She seemed to sway between pro Republic and pro Separatists as if she were reading a script. After he did this five times steadily increasing the weight, he wondered where she would rest when the war ended.

He stepped off the bench and walked to the cardio vascular room and get his ID card and towel down along the wall. He approached a hanging punching back and began a punching routine Plo Koon had taught him years ago. He hit the bag over and over again striking it with this fists and elbows. His aggression grew. He clenched his jaw and bared his teeth and he struck harder.

How could they? Without a warning. Without an ounce of correction. Without a mention of anything…they kicked him out? He tore the bag with an elbow strike. They shunned him? He creased the bag in half with a punch. They stole the past decade of his life?! They didn't even try to correct him! Where was the mentorship they espoused so greatly?! The hate filled him, and he swung hard.

He punched the bag right off its mount. He staggered forward as his fist carried him forward. The bag hit the ground and slid across the floor and sprayed sand across the wood planks.

He stood up straight and breathed deeply, catching his breath. He clenched his fists tight, flaring the cord-like muscles in his forearms. Then…he pushed the frustration back and down.

Regardless. He was done with that. It was gone. It was away. He could not go back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was only forward. He stared at the ruptured bag. That's no good. That one might get him barred from the gym.

"Hey, man!" a voice echoed through the room. Mit'teem looked over toward the voice in the door. He saw a man under two meters tall and gray skin. He has bright yellow irises in this eyes and long purple hair. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and leaned his muscular build against the door frame. "You okay?" the stranger asked. Mit'teem closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath.

"Yeah, thanks." He looked up with a smile. "Just have things on my mind, you know."

"Mid-terms?" the guy asked. Mit'teem rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Mid-terms."

"You look like you have pretty good game. You mind if I spar with you?" The injustice of the Jedi Council drained away. The man walked toward him and extended his hand. "My name is Dramin." Mit'teem outstretched his hand to meet this stranger's. They didn't meet each other's hands, instead they met each other's forearms. That told Mit'teem that this guy was serious.

"My name is Mit'teem."

They locked eyes.

"Good to meet you, Mit'eem," Dramin said with confidence.

Mit'teem smiled.

"Good," Mit'teem said. "It's good to meet you."

The two of them held their locked eyes.

"Do your eyes glow?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem smiled.  
"It seems so. Yours?"

"They do," Dramin said with a smile. They both released their grip and stood up. "What art do you practice? I am interested in what you're doing. You just punched that bag right off its mount. It looks pretty effective."

"Thanks," Mit'teem said, "I fought when the Separatist Army came to my world. Droids are tough."

Dramin looked with interest.

"No kidding?" Dramin said. "I didn't fight in the war but my world suffered the rule of a dictator. The government sided with the Separatists. Then the clone army arrived and drove the Separatists from my planet. Then our government changed. What did you do?"

"Sounds like the same as you. The war came to my world. Then the Grand Army of the Republic came." He walked a little as he thought and then looked back at Dramin. "They recruited us and trained us to defend our world. The clones gave us training I never expected." He waved his hand. "But they liberated us, and I was afforded a scholarship here. I put down the blaster rifle, and picked up a book," he said with a smile. "Now I'm learning about astrophysics."

"That's awesome," Dramin said. "Are all of your people like you?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem shook his head.

"No. I was adopted," Mit'teem laughed. "They called me the blue wonder. It's a long story," he said dismissively. "You?"

"Yes. Grey skin, yellow eyes, purple hair, funny tattoos. I'm sure you know. It's a little difficult to get a fair shake around this place."

"Yeah," Mit'teem said. "We just have to outperform." He decided to change the subject and tipped his head up in an inquisitive gesture. "What's your athletic history?"

Dramin laughed.

"Oh, you know. Sports. Gymnastics," he paused, "and a little fighting."

Mit'teem frowned and nodded his head.

"Good. You asked to spar. What do you have in mind?"

Dramin looked at the heavy bag laying on the ground.

"Let's go about," he paused, "forty percent."

"Okay, forty—" before Mit'teem could finish his sentence, this new comer had already speared him, jumping at him and catching him in the hip with his right shoulder. The two slammed down on the pads hard, and Dramin mounted Mit'teem.

He was careful not to use the Force. Mit'teem crossed his hands at the wrists and shot his left arm right across his chest, twisting his torso. He hooked his elbow around his opponent's rib cage and twisted them both to the left. Mit'teem torqued him to his left and slammed Dramin onto his back brining Mit'teem on top. With speed, Mit'teem controlled Dramin's wrists with his right hand and pressed all of this weight across Dramin's neck with his left forearm.

Before Dramin knew it, his neck was being crushed by the blue creature.

"Is forty percent good for you?" Mit'teem asked. Dramin laughed.

"Yeah!" he said with a grunt. "Forty percent is good."

Mit'teem relieved the pressure and stood. He helped Dramin up.

"Now, a double leg take-down is pretty novice. Do you have a standing game?" Mit'teem looked at Dramin's bright yellow eyes.

"I might." Dramin took a formed stance, and Mit'teem stood squared up to him. Dramin threw a series of punches at him. In a combination of dodges and blocks, Mit'teem kept him at bay. They traded a few blows, then then Dramin jumped and spun a mid-air roundhouse kick at Mit'teem.

This was the opening Mit'teem was looking for. He ducked and let Dramin's leg fly over his head. As Mit'teem stood up, he stepped half a step forward and crossed his wrists as he reached toward Dramin. As Dramin landed his foot, Mit'teem closed the distance. With crossed wrists and a left leg forward, he grabbed Dramin's forehead with this left hand and put his right hand on Dramin's right shoulder. He twisted his torso to the left and pivoted Dramin over his left thigh, throwing Dramin's back onto his left thigh and him off balance. Shocked, Dramin was bent upside down over Mit'teem's left leg barely able to keep himself from falling limp. His feet stuttered to keep his hips up. Struggling to keep from falling, Dramin breathed is staggered breaths.

"Hmmm," Mit'teem said looking down at his challenger's neck bent over his leg and completely exposed. Dramin could tell he had lost in the worst way. This was a kill position. Vvulnerable, Mit'teem thumped Dramin's exposed adams apple earning a grunt from him. Mit'teem patted the base of Dramin's neck twice. "I think that's enough for today," and let Dramin roll over onto the mat and regain his balance. He stood up straight and studied Mit'teem with a confused look.

"That was a kill shot," Dramin said. Mit'teem nodded slightly. "How long have you been training?"

"A long time," Mit'teem said. There was a pause as he formulated what species Dramin was. "Your home planet suffered from a civil war, and you know how to fight like that. You're a Kage, aren't you?"

Dramin smiled and nodded slightly in respect.

"I am."

Mit'teem smiled.

"That's why you're so good. I've heard stories about your people." There was a long pause between them. Mit'teem checked his wrist chrono. He grabbed the heavy bag and dragged it to the corner. "There aren't very many of us here, especially at this school," Mit'teem said as he sat the heavy bag in the corner.

"Aliens?" Dramin clarified.

"Of course," Mit'teem said. Then he closed with Dramin and extended his arm with a smile. The two clasps forearms. "I think we both have to get ready for class."

"We have a fighting group here on campus," Dramin said. "I think you would make a real contribution if you'd like to try it out."

Mit'teem nodded.

"Thank you. I will give it some thought, Kage Warrior." They shared a look at spoke volumes. Mit'teem could tell that Dramin had indeed fought in the war…or some war that is. They nodded and parted ways.

"It's good to meet you, Mit'teem."

He wasn't as alone out here as he thought.


	3. He Who Faces Himself Finds Himself

"Another Point of View"

Mit'teem had his left leg up on the arm of the empty seat ahead of him as he sat in the Galactic Political Science, or "Poli-G" class. The class covered the interstellar affairs in and out of the Republic. The beginning of the semester had started with the Great Hyper Space War of the Old Republic. The past two weeks had been about the ongoing Galactic Civil War, what was now being called the "Clone Wars". He knew that he had a bias as he listened to the current topics. His bias was one of having been on the battlefield and seeing it for real. He could still feel the vibrations in the hull of a starship's hull as it was hit with anti-ship blaster bolts and debris from other starships. He knew the smell of burning bodies as clones immolated inside their own landing craft. He could still taste his troopers' blood as it had sprayed across his face.

This woman likely had never left the university or Coruscant for that matter. However, what she said was saying was conceptually accurate. What had surprised him more than anything was how different the story being told to the citizens of the Republic was than what really happened. He could see it on the holovids as he now watched the war from the outside. It was a very polished…novelized…version of events.

"The viewpoints of the Separatists are important to understand," the professor said, "to them, they have been oppressed by laws written by a capitol government tens of light years away while that government turned a blind eye toward their needs and their plights. When they questioned that government, it would send Jedi Knights to," she lifted her hands and made air-quotes, "moderate the dispute." Mit'teem let a half smile sneak across his lips.

He'd been there and done that one. It was amazing how much progress could be made by placing a lightsaber on the table between two disputing parties. Suddenly they became more agreeable.

"And I will end with this," she continued. "It is interesting that in a conflict that is costing hundreds of billions of lives, it is the Jedi who lead both sides." Mit'teem slightly furrowed his brow. His first reaction was, _that's not fair_ , but as she let the statement hang in the air and scanned the class with her eyes, he considered idea. "A former Jedi heads the Separatist Union, and the Jedi Order leads the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic." Mit'teem mentally examined past events. "Don't forget, next week is dead week, and the week are finals." Mit'teem barely heard her as he pondered the campaigns, the politics, what the Council had said and what it had done.

Students packed up their belongings as he remained in his seat and thought. He let the majority of the class leave before him.

"Hmmm," he grunted to himself as things lined up in his mind. He saved his notes on the data pad and slid it into his backpack. He took a deep breath. One thing was for certain, the Jedi were not tactical geniuses. He rose from his seat and slung the backpack on. The short time he and Plo Koon spent at the Kamino world overseeing the education and training of the clones, he learned more than a year in Jedi strategy sessions.

As he exited the building, he was awash in the splendor of the Coruscant landscape. While the main terrace was a thousand or so meters off the surface of the planet, it was still surrounded by buildings that reached high into the night sky. The tiny lit dots of traffic crisscrossed against a deep, inky, black night sky. For as hard and violent this war was, the capitol was not suffering that much…if at all. For as bustling, busy, and prosperous Coruscant was, there was still poverty on the massive city-planet. All one had to do was go to the surface to see that, but here, where the powerful lived, where the elite lived, there were no sign of it. There was no consequence of the war.

He felt the cool air flowing off the fountain in the middle of the campus square as he passed it. The water jets, illuminated from within the pool fired in an entertaining sequence making the water look as if it were alive.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked out across the cityscape. To the west was the Senate building where there were social events, parties being thrown, clinking of fine crystal glasses, and undoubtedly the abuse of power. He walked up to a railing at the edge of a walkway that overlooked the historical governing district. To his right was the massive mushroom shaped Senate building. To the left was the significantly smaller Jedi Temple with its large center structure surrounded by four spires. Mit'teem looked into the palm of his right hand and ran his thumb across callouses on his palm. At least Chancellor Palpatine seemed to have a grip on priorities. He seemed to be the only one focused on winning the war.

He sighed as he considered how the last year had gone. Being away from the constant presence of other force sensitives, no longer having access to the temple or commanding the clones, it was a huge paradigm shift away from the dogmatic bubble of the Jedi Order. It was almost like a breath of fresh air. The people he hung around were so very diverse from what he previously knew. He socialized with a range of people from pure intellectuals and professors to the tactically mindful of those in his sparing club. The closest association to his past was a fellow warrior, Dramin, a man who had fought a civil war against an oppressive species on his own planet. That was struggle. That was pain. No one here knew those realities.

Mit'teem had learned so much. While he missed the experience of having the connection to the Force, grasping it and wrapping himself in it as if it were tangible, being away from the Jedi had expanded his horizons beyond anything he could have imagined. He turned away from the railing and descended the stairs. As he did, he thought about what the professor had said. Where did the clone army come from? How did the Republic magic-it-up at just the right time? He scanned his ID card into the library and walked to the caff lounge. The Jedi were definitely doing things they should not. They were the negotiators, the bringers of peace. Now, he supposed, they brought peace in a different way, from orbital bombardment the swing of a lightsaber blade.

What if the Jedi were behind the war? What would they want to gain? Power? Control over the Republic? He didn't know.

Mit'teem noticed the normal looks he got as he passed through the lounge. All he ever needed to do to intimidate someone was throw a glance their way. Apparently glowing red eyes was fearsome. He never knew the difference before. Now that he was in the public culture, he knew better. That was something he never knew in the Order: discrimination. He had come to learn that because he looked different, he was treated differently by some. He paid for his caff and took a drink. That was fine. He pitied the fool who would pick a fight with him.

Mit'teem spent the last night pouring over gravitational constants and working problems in preparation for finals. The past several days and nights had been mentally and physically taxing. The days began with an hour in the gym lifting weights, the majority of the day was spent in lectures or study sessions. The late afternoon was sparing with the fight club, and the evenings were with the occasional lab, studying, and sleep.

He walked to the open couch, slid his backpack off and set it on the floor next to him. With finals week ahead of him, he was ready for a break from class to rest and study. He his data pad from his backpack and opened his notes. He read them for a minute felt himself drifting off. He took a sip of his caff and swallowed.

He was so tired.

He took a deep breath and set his pad down on the tops of his legs. He leaned his head back on the couch material and closed his eyes.

Nearly instantly, he slipped into sleep.

Suddenly, Mit'teem was back on Geonosis. The scream of the bugs and the terrible pattering of their wings was all around them. Blue blaster bolts crossed the landscape as the clones wildly fired at the Geonosians. He swung his bright yellow blade cutting down warrior bug after warrior bug. They had been ambushed from under the ground.

He reached out with the Force and pulled one toward him. Dragging it through the air, he impaled it with the yellow blade. The fighting had gone on for an hour, only an hour, and his men were dropping like flies. A wheeled rocket vehicle a thousand meters away fired a volley of rockets their direction.

"Take cover!" he heard Commander Gray say over the circuit. Mit'teem reached out toward the rockets with his left hand. With a Force push, he knocked them all off their courses, some spinning around in the air, some slamming into the ground short…but still too close. Hard clay and dirt bounced off their armor.

Commander Gray was shouting orders to hold their position. Mit'teem clicked the neck microphone on, and he keyed up, shouting over the sound of bugs wings and blaster fire.

"Commander Gray," we have to get out of the open. Another clone fell. "We can advance to that," he was cut off as what felt like a bucket of heavy liquid poured onto his right shoulder and across the top of his head. He felt the warm substance splash onto the right side of his face, and he heard a scream. He looked up to see two Geonosian warrior bugs fly over him carrying the severed torso of a clone trooper into the air as blood poured from the dying clone. He turned to his right hearing Wildcard scream. Two Geonosians violently lifted the clone off the ground by a leg and an arm. He screamed as they literally ripped his limbs off. Wildcard fell to the ground in a bloody impact.

Mit'teem screamed in rage as he felt a red-like rage flush through is body. He lashed out to the two Geonosians with the Force. He felt their exoskeletons and encased both in the Force. With the grip of a single hand and a primal scream, Mit'teem crumpled them like vacuum bottles as he crushed them both mid-air. They fell in a wet thump. Wildcard writhed on the ground in pain. Mit'teem ran to him.

"Medic!" he yelled and deactivated his lightsaber as he slid on a knee to Wildcard's side. "MEDIC!" he screamed with his entire being. He looked around and saw the battle field was very much occupied. Mit'teem watched blood hemoraging out of Wildcard's tattered stumps as they shivered in pain. Wildcard's left arm had been ripped off at the elbow, and his left lower leg was completely gone. His wounds were too large to treat with the armor's medical coagulant, and they ran out of tourniquets at the beginning of the campaign. Mit'teem grabbed Wildcard's helmet and looked directly into his visor.

"Wildcard," Mit'teem said over the clone's struggled screams. "Listen! There is only one way to save you right now." He held his lightsaber hilt up to Wildcard's visor. "Be still." Wildcard, beyond words as this point, simply nodded. Mit'teem held the clone's right upper arm down and turned the saber emitter down. He lit the blade with a snap-hiss, and it pierced the ground beneath Wildcard. He passed the blade through the clone's upper arm just above the wound and cauterized it shut. The bleeding stopped immediately. Mit'teem deactivated the blade and pivoted on Wildcard's torso and held his left thigh down, the tattered muscle and ligaments shaking in shock. With a snap-hiss of the lightsaber blade, he passed the blade just above the knee, through armor and everything. The clone's scream and stark stench of burning flesh and plastoid armor filled the air.

Mit'teem extinguished the blade and quickly inspected the wound. It was cauterized.

"Wildcard, don't move too much until the medics can come. You don't want the wounds to reopen. If you do, you will bleed to death," Mit'teem said.

"Ye-yes, sir," Wildcard managed to say. "Just give me a blaster, Commander. I can still shoot." Mit'teem scanned the battlefield and saw a myriad of weapons lying about. He reached his hand out and called a blaster pistol to his hand with the Force. It slid across the ground and slapped into the palm of his glove.

"Here," Mit'teem said as he put the blaster in the clone's hand. "Help is coming."

"Get them for me, sir," Wildcard said through gritted teeth. "Get them for all of us."

Mit'teem nodded once and reached out with the Force, mapping the battlefield with his mind. He felt his clones. He felt the Geonocians. He felt where they were and where he was going to go. He stood with fury...with half his face and white grieve covered red in blood, he felt hatred flood through him. With hatred in his eyes, he lit his saber.

Mit'teem's leg twitched and shook him awake. He quickly assessed his surroundings. His data pad was in his hand instead of lightsaber. He was still casually dressed instead of covered in a bloody mud. The screams of the clones faded away in his ears. Then he noticed his caff overturned on the ground.

"E-chu-ta," he cursed to himself as he reached down to right the overturned cup. He set the cup down and leaned back on the sofa backing. He took a deep breath and sighed.

It had been almost a month since he had these dreams...these memories. He pressed his eyes shut and slightly shook his head. It would be a while more before he was rid of these…but before he was, he knew there would be more, and they would be worse.


	4. The Hardest Path is Letting Go

"The hardest path is letting go of the past."

Dramin opened the small notebook and set it on the counter. It was his turn to run the work out. He felt pressure to not disappoint his workout partner, a fellow student named Mit'teem. Mit'teem was a very mysterious guy. He was very capable but really didn't talk about his past in too much detail. Dramin was trained to read people and size them up, and he could tell there was a lot more to Mit'teem than he let on. Dramin felt like it was fate to meet his new friend. He didn't know what species Mit'teem was, but he was blue-skinned, had jet black hair, and impressive glowing red eyes that got brighter the harder he exerted himself. He had an impressive amount of still and strength for being a college kid. From what he had shared in conversations, he had fought his fair share of battles during the on-going Galactic War. They had bonded over being able to talk about battle, the loss of friends, and sharing victories with brothers-in-arms. It was not common to find someone at the University of Coruscant who had seen war. In fact, it was only when the Grand Army of the Republic came to his world of Quarzite and helped end his planet's civil war and liberate his people, was Dramin afforded the ability and privilege to step away from war and attend university off world.

He wrote down a training routine he followed when he was younger. The most difficult physical feat he had done during his planet's the civil war was all the running and jumping. They had to be able to jump from the massive centipedes they traveled upon to a moving mag-lift train or scale the side of buildings unseen and unheard. That required an incredible amount of strength only earned from hard training. A pair of students would sprint up land masses fifty meters tall at a twenty-degree incline. Once they reached the top, they would spar their partners with fatigued and burning legs. Once they reached a certain ability, they would move to the next steeper hill until they mastered that, then to the next. The final test for each progression was racing to the top alone to meet one, two, or three opponents who were fresh and fight them all at once. It took him years, but by the time he was fifteen, he was ready to join the resistance on his home world, and he entered their civil war.

This particular workout was to simulate something similar. It was a combination of a heavy leg and shoulder work immediately followed by a ten minute sparing match. By combining those two before a fight, he was putting both himself and Mit'teem off balance, uncoordinated, and in a world of hurt. In a fight, it was extremely important to have a solid base in both stance and arm placement, but by fatiguing both immediately beforehand, they were going to spar with arms and legs loose, uncoordinated, and on fire with lactic acid. Dramin smiled to himself as he looked at the workout.

 _No mercy_ , he thought.

He folded the small note book, placed it in his pocket, and left his dorm room. This was going to be good.

Mit'teem downed the last gulp of his exercise drink as he sat on the bench outside the fitness center waiting for his friend, Dramin. With class, study sessions, and a lab, he had been up for seventeen hours straight. He had trained his mind all day. Now it was time to train his body. His blue body attracted a lot of looks, and normally he didn't care. He didn't make a big deal about being different, but he didn't hide it, either. His physique had improved a lot over the months at school. While he was still lean, he was able to eat a lot better than the rations when on the battlefield. Mit'teem stared out into the distance as his mind wondered and recalled the events of Geonosia…the Second Battle of Geonosia to be specific. As he waited, his fatigue began to sink his vision, and before knew it, his sight was replaced by his imagination. He now saw the orange dust of Geonosia. He could smell it, he could taste it, and all the noises around him began to morph into the background noise of that battlefield.

In his mind, and clear as that day, he was back on Geonosia, exhausted, fatigued, and covered in his men's blood. He drove on. Mit'teem pressed the lightsaber hard, and the screeching hiss and popping of boiling alloy filled his ears. Whatever metal these anti-landing spires were made of, it was extremely tough. The yellow blade melted through the massive obstacle slowly and with great resistance. As his blade exploded through the last bit of metal, he swung the saber to his right and reached up with his left hand and used the Force to tip the obstacle over into a clearing away from his men and him. The massive spire groaned as it nosed over. It shook the ground with its impact. That was the last of twenty-three massive, anti-landing obstacles in this area. Mit'teem turned to his second-in-charge.

"Commander Grey, let the General know the landing zone is prepared."

The tide of the battle was finally turning away from their position. He could hear over the command frequencies that General Skywalker's forces were heading toward the fortress wall. They had the opportunity to gather their strength and evacuate the wounded.

The lightsaber hilt was hot as he rolled it in his hand. It had already cut through the leather of his glove. He examined it briefly. Inside the grenade section was caked with the orange-brown mud of dirt and Jumper's blood. He sighed deeply. He activated the blade and listened to it. The resonance of its hum was getting slower and slower. Sergeant Longshot turned to him.

"Is something wrong, Commander?"

Mit'teem deactivated the blade.

"No." He turned the hilt to where its control box was upright. "My lightsaber is over-heating." He lifted the lever on the side of the control box, loosening the clamp and slid the control card on its surface forward.

"They do that?" the clone asked as Mit'teem looked at the tiny power indicator lights inside the control box and saw the power cell's charge was getting dangerously low as well. The last thing he needed was to be in the middle of deflecting a blaster bolt and his blade to die.

"Yes. Normally it's not a problem. But today," he said as he slid the control card back down and closed the clamp lever, "everything is being taxed." He began to unscrew the pommel of the saber. Longshot looked on with curiosity. Mit'teem pulled the pommel off carefully withdrawing the long, tooth-like power core of the weapon. He readjusted his grip on the hilt and gripped the power cell as well with the same hand. It was hot! He turned it counter clockwise and disengaged it from the pommel. He pulled a narrow power cord from his belt and inserted the male end of the connector into a small slot on the power cell.

"Is that a recharge port?" Longshot asked.

"Yes," Mit'teem said as he and stowed it in a pouch on his belt. He opened another of the pouches and produced another power cell.

"I thought lightsabers were…magical," Longshot said. Mit'teem considered the comment as he worked the hilt.

"I guess it is a little magical, but it's still just a machine," he said as he gestured to the clone's blaster, "just like your blaster. You use that and I use this." Mit'teem locked the new power cell onto the pommel, carefully inserted it back into the hilt, and screwed the pommel back on. "Yes, they can run out of power and over heat." He extended the hilt to the Clone. "Here, feel how hot it its." Longshot took the weapon and felt the heat through his glove. He was very surprised. He handed the weapon back to the Jedi Padawan.

"That is incredible, sir. It's heavier than I thought."

Mit'teem took the weapon back and hung it on his belt.

"I need to let it cool down." He reached his hand out to a blaster he saw lying on the ground and called it to his hand with the Force. He examined it for damage. "In the meantime, I will use a blaster as well."

"Do you know how to use one, sir?" Longshot asked. Mit'teem shot him a disapproving look. "I've just never heard of a Jedi using a…" he stopped himself.

"I'm not too good to use a blaster, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir," Longshot said in an awkward burst. Command Grey approached the two of them.

"What is our casualty count, Commander?" Mit'teem asked. The clone audibly sighed.

"Seventy ready for evacuation," Grey paused for a beat, "and twenty-five dead, sir."

Mit'teem did the quick math in his head. He pressed his eyes closed and shook his head.

"We're down to twenty-two," he said.

"Yes, sir."

Where were the attack cruisers? Mit'teem thought to himself. They needed the heavy battery of the Venators. Those cruisers could operate in the atmosphere just fine. They had remarkable shielding. They could take the beating the surface fire could give them. What was their deal?! Why was the planning for this invasion so poorly executed?

But Mit'teem held those thoughts in. The last thing his clones needed was to see their Jedi showing that kind of frustration. He needed to be their rock…especially now. He shouldered the blaster rifle.

"Sir," Longshot said, "they're approaching." They looked into the sky and saw the seven ships, four LAAT gun ships and three massive Consular-class corvettes. The LAATs hung in the air as the Consulars made their approach. It was like Lothcats letting Banthas lay down first so they wouldn't get crushed. As the massive corvettes descended out of the orange sky, Mit'teem took a knee and held his breath as an orange sand storm blasted over them. The three starships landed in a rapid and aggressive manner, then the four smaller LAAT gunships landed around the cruisers. As the orange dirt settled, Mit'teem rose and looked to Commander Grey.

"You know the drill, Commander, get the wounded on board the transports, reload your power packs, get food, more medkits, tourniquets, and water. We might go for a while without support."

"Yes, sir," Grey said and began directing the remaining clones to do so. The door to the LAAT nearest to him slid open revealing twelve clones and his Jedi master, Plo Koon. As Plo Koon stepped out of the attack craft, Mit'teem smiled and approached the Kel Dor.

"It's good to see you, Master Plo," Mit'teem said. "How is the rest of the campaign?"

"There is far more resistance than we expected," the tall Kel Dor said, his mask moving over his orange skin. "The landing at Point Rain has been a particular challenge. What are your losses?"

Mit'teem's smile slipped from his face.

"We have lost nearly two-thirds of the men, sir."

Plo Koon looked at his apprentice and saw the stress on his face. Bloody mud streaked down from his hairline to his jaw, turning the right side of his face a bloody brown. His Padawan had furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. There was something else there he could not put his finger on, but it felt like a raw intensity, a power he had never felt in his apprentice before. It was not uncommon for campaigns like this to empower Jedi and help them grow faster than they otherwise would, but this was different, and it unsettled the Jedi Master.

"The Geonosians are being uniquely savage, Master. They swoop in and rip their limbs off."

He reached out and put his left hand on Mit'teem's right shoulder.

"You are doing well, my Padawan, keep leading your men and give them strength, but be mindful of the Force. Be careful. Do not lose control." Mit'teem bowed his head for a moment and then looked at his master's masked eyes.

"Thank you, Master. I will do my best. Can you afford us any reinforcements?"

"Unfortunately, no. We are headed to Master Luminara's position. Her forces are closing in the planet's primary weapons factory. You must press forward here."

They spoke of logistics and watched his men load the wounded onto the nearest corvette. A moment later, Mit'teem watched his master board his LAAT and the door slide shut. With a wind up of the engines, the LAATs lifted away followed shortly by the massive Consular-class corvettes. The group of craft nosed up and gained altitude at an impressive rate.

"Mit'teem," he heard. He looked over to Longshot who was watching the ships leave. "Mit'teem," he heard again, and he felt a slap on his shoulder. Longshot turned to him.

"What now, Commander?"

"Mit'teem," he heard again.

Dramin stood over Mit'teem as he sat on the bench staring into the pavement.

"Hey, Mit'teem!" Dramin said.

Mit'teem snapped back to the present. He looked up and saw Dramin standing over him with a smile.

"You okay, man?" Mit'teem smiled, stood up, and took a deep breath as he tried to look normal.

"Yeah, sorry. I was lost in my brains." Dramin read Mit'teem's features and recognized the reaction. A beat passed as Dramin narrowed his eyes, accentuating his bright, yellow irises as he drilled into Mit'teem's own glowing eyes.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked with a soft tone. Mit'teem laughed and dropped the guise. "You're the real deal, Dramin. I don't even know why I try to hide anything with you."

Dramin let another beat pass before he spoke.

"I know, 'M. I have my moments, too, brother." Dramin slapped Mit'teem on the shoulder. Mit'teem was taken aback again. That was the first time Dramin had referred to him as a brother. "Let's go hit the grav-plates and think about something other than the past."

"Shut your stupid mouth before I start calling you 'Dramin the Dramatic'," Mit'teem said as the two young warriors walked into gymnasium.


	5. The Most Dangerous Beast is the Beast

"The Most Dangerous Beast is the Beast Within."

Mit'teem laid in his bed looking at the ceiling. The golden light of the Coruscant night poured into his room from between the slats of his window shade. The shadows fell over his desk and the clothes he had laid over his chair that were prepared for the next day. The slatted light drew lines over the pens, note books, and data pad as they sat perfectly centered on his desk. The wide bands of light and shadow resembled the bars of a jail cell as they fell over his backpack on his floor, but this was anything _but_ a jail cell. It was all as perfect as he could make it. What he felt flowing through his body was about as perfect as he could expect. It wasn't like using an artificial substance like spice or some other substance to escape reality or to get intoxicated at the bar. It was natural, appropriate, and incredible. He felt her arm move against his chest slightly and across his muscled abdomen as she slept next to him.

He didn't understand why the Jedi were so against relationships. Well, he understood the fact that emotions clouded one's use of logic and reason. However, using discipline to control how he reacted to situations, etc, he felt, was one of his strengths. The friendships and attachments he had made here at school, the simple joy and fun he had with other people, was overwhelmingly positive.

Even though he was no longer part of the Jedi, their teachings were almost all he had ever known, and as a result, they were the bedrock of his life philosophy. Recently, however his confidence in them had been shaken when he was summarily expelled from the only society he had ever known: the Jedi Order. Now that he was out of the Order, he was questioning it all. After the first couple months of the erratic thoughts swirling in his mind like a Kamonian cyclone, he began to separate the different concerns he had and logically examined them one at a time. The biggest challenge was to establish and maintain a calm mind. Swimming in the fitness center's pool was good to slowly and rhythmically go through thoughts and ideas. Counting each kick, glide, roll, breath, and pull helped to calm his mind. Sometimes it would take a long run to Mandalorian running cadences to slow his thoughts. The one thing he wished he could do was simply think outloud, but that was running the risk of some sort of surveillance system catching wind of his once history in the Order.

At this point he was able to identify individual topics that he wanted to analyze and derive decisions. This took time, but he was making progress. He was careful to set the product of his analysis aside in his memory so he could pick up where he left off without having to go through the whole process again.

While he had never really needed to define it before, he realized that he had always used the Jedi philosophy of discipline and self-governance to regulate how he emotionally reacted to things. Of all the Jedi philosophy he had decided to discard, self-governance – discipline – was a good one to keep.

Still weary of personal attachment, it had taken him a whole semester to ease into relationships with his classmates. The only person he related to was Dramin. A fellow warrior, they saw a lot more eye-to-eye than not, but Mit'teem really valued Dramin's slightly obtuse point of view. Undoubtedly it was due to the fact that he grew up living under an oppressive government and fighting a guerilla war against it. While the Jedi taught to avoid attachment at all costs, Dramin had regaled him with the value and bond of brotherhood and friendship. He recognized a lot Dramin's description as the comradery he had forged with his clones. He flicked his eyebrow as he considered if any of them were still alive. The last time he had seen any of them he had lost about sixty percent of them.

He felt his eye lids getting heavy. After a brutal workout in the gym that morning, three classes, one office-hours study session, an hour of sparing, an hour of what he had just done, he felt his mind finally winding down. As his vision dimmed and his eyes slipped closed, he wondered where his clones were.

The acrid smell of the Geonosian dirt caked his nostrils. Now that they were underground, at least he didn't smell the ozone and bi-products of blaster fire and charred flesh. There was no visible light, only thermal radiation emanating from the walls and reflecting off objects. Mit'teem had point as he and fifteen of his men navigated through the catacombs. His men operated with thermal-vision, but he didn't need to. He could see enough of the infrared spectrum to navigate in the catacomb. The Padawan was sure the force at Landing Point Rain under the leadership of Master Obiwan Kenobi and Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker had drawn most of forces away from their current position, but that was not going to stop him from finding the chain of command and forceing a Geonosian surrender. He had every intention to take them into custody. If it were up to Mit'teem, they would be tried for war crimes.

Mit'teem detected movement and thought he heard something ahead. He held his left hand up. He began seeing segments of clone trooper armor strune across the dirt ground of the catacomb shaft. Greives, leg pieces, boots, then a helmet. He approached the helmet and took a knee next to it. He immediately recognized the markings as Red's. He tried to pick it up, but it was heavier than usual. Was it stuck to the ground with some sort of Geonosian goo? He turned the helmet up exposing its bottom. The tattered flesh of a neck and a few vertebra hung out of its bottom. Mit'teem recoiled, dropping the helmet, and almost lost his balance.

"Poor Red," Commander Grey said almost inaudibly. Mit'teem stood for a moment as he absorbed the reality of the situation. They had literally ripped his head off. Had he still been alive? Why not just blast him? He shook his head and shouldered his blaster rifle. No matter. Forward. With a movement of his non-firing hand, they continued their advance. They approached a small chamber that echoed strange sounds. He could distinguish the chitterring of the bugs, but there was some other sound he could not quite place. It almost sounded wet.

As they advanced, Commander Grey kept a close eye on both the men behind and his Jedi Padawan ahead. They were approaching a junction of some kind. He had never known a Jedi to use a blaster rifle before, but this Padawan had been making good use of it. He saw Mit'teem throw up the hand signal to stack up on the righthand side of the catacomb wall. The rest of them began to hear the chittering and wet, sopping noise as well.

"I don't like the sound of that," Longshot whispered. Grey saw Mit'teem's gesture with his firing hand to get ready to send five in on him with the rest holding security in the passageway. Grey nodded and passed the order back. After they fell into position, Grey pressed on the left side of Mit'teem neck as "ready".

Mit'teem surged forward with the blaster rifle raised, and the five flowed behind him. Mit'teem and Grey crossed to the left, the next two hooked to the right, and the last two shot straight in. As they visually swept their respective areas, they stopped in their tracks and looked on in horror.

"What in the stars," Longshot said across the circuit. Hanging before them and piled in masses were the mutilated corpses of clones. Entrails littered the floor. Some corpses were hanging from the ceiling ripped apart above the waist with entrails hanging like ropes from their mutilated bodies. There were piles of parts…torsos, piles of arms, piles of legs, and piles of severed heads and helmets. The floor was wet with a mud of blood and dirt. They were all speechless as they looked on. Then, movement! Five Geonosians turn to face them. They seemed to be casually eating the meat off the clones' limbs. One was attempting to pull the meat out of plastoid leg armor as if it were pulling the flesh out of a crustacean's shell.

"Headlamps on," Mit'teem said. He flicked the flood light on his blaster. Lights flicked on from all the clones' helmets and rifles. The sudden light startled the Geonosians, shocked as if beams of sunlight had just invaded their sanctum.

They had frosted eyes and moved in a drunk fashion. They looked up at the clones and screamed a shreak. Mit'teem established where they all were and clenched his jaw. He slung the blaster rifle and drew his lightsaber. Quicker than either clones or the Geonosians could realize, he ignited it, and threw it in an arch around the chamber. With sparks and a hiss, the weapon boomeranged around the room and sliced through the upper torsos of some and necks of others. The weapon returned to his hand, and their bodies thumped against the ground.

The hum of the lightsaber blade was the only remaining sound as they all stood there stunned amongst the horror. Mit'teem persed his lips and took in the sight around them and let it fuel him. The bodies hanging from the ceiling were mutilated beyond He looked at the piled of severed heads, some with the expression of fear still frozen on them. After a moment, Commander Grey spoke.

"What do we do, sir?"

"We press forward." Mit'teem extinguished his lightsaber and shouldered the blaster rifle.

Mit'teem began to breath irregularly and subtly twitch in bed. It wasn't much, but it was enough to wake up his partner, Ashha. She looked over at him and saw his eye brows furrow and his jaw clench. As her hand lay on his abdomen, she could feel his muscles go from firm to hard as they contracted with spasms and forced breaths. A bright red light flashed through between his eye lids as his eyes jumped around in REM sleep. His pectorals creased as they flexed, and his thyroid cartilage stood out as he wrenched his head back.

As they approached the larger chamber, he saw what he recognized to be a massive, massive creature. He had heard rumors that while the Geonosians had Generals commanding troops and the droid army, they also had hierarchy of royalty. It was theorized that like other insects, they had a queen. He figured that's exactly what they had just found. Slight light radiated from what looked like restraining fields. He looked closer and saw there were clones suspended all around the chamber. He felt some sort of telepathic force coming from the creature in the middle as if it were trying to read the restrained clones' minds. He looked at the surrounding formations and saw loadbearing pillars reaching to the ceiling.

"Commander Grey. As we enter the chamber, take up position behind these pillars. It appears there are a number of troopers being held captive. If we can, we are going to rescue them. There seem to be warriors tending to this creature as well. Keep your eyes peeled for any more."

"Roger, sir," Commander Grey whispered. "What are you going to do, sir?"

"I'm going to see if I can learn anything from it. But more importantly, I am going to be your distraction."

"Copy that, sir."

Mit'teem stood and slung his blaster to his left side, hooking it onto his left hip. As he casually walked into the chamber, he counted eight captive clones suspended by ray restraints. The clones fell in behind the pillars without being noticed. The chamber must have been fifty meters wide, but there only seemed to be eight warriors guarding, or attending to, this queen, if that's indeed what it was.

"Hello," Mit'teem said loudly. The Queen recoiled, and the Geonosian warriors stopped in their tracks. The queen growled.

"You are the creature that attack Geonosia!" the queen shrieked.

"Indeed I am," Mit'teem said.

"Why have you come before _me?_ " He could feel the telepathic energy flowing from her. He tried to interpret it. Instead of being a clear communication signal, it was more like hearing static filled transmission. He couldn't understand the language being spoken, but he could feel the emotion behind it. _She_ was controlling them. Poggle the Lesser may have been making the military decisions, but she gave him instructions, too. He pointed to the captive clones.

"My name is Mit'teem of the Galactic Republic, and I have the unfortunate duty to inform you that your reign has come to an end, my highness," Mit'teem said with a direct and confident tone. She shook violently with rage and let out a long, warbling scream.

"Noooo!" she shreaked. "You no dictate to me! My empire is forever!"

"It does not appear that way, your highness. You will release the clone soldiers immediately and submit to Republic law." She released a low, primal growl in protest.

"I no submit to you."

"Your actions will only make the Republic's judgement of you harsher. Surrender your forces now, and the Republic will give mercy," Mit'teem said. The queen shuttered in rebuke to the thought.

"You, Jedi," she said in long, drawn out words. "I no destroy you," she said ominously, "I consume you. Your minds become my minds," she said with a wave of her six hands toward the captive clones. He looked at the clones around him and saw what looked like worms in their noses moving from nostril to nostril. Their eyes were rolled in the backs of their heads. Some hung limp, and some convulsed.

"You're reading their minds," Mit'teem said. She smiled. "You also communicate with your people telepathically. I can feel it." He let the revelation hang in the air. "You will order your forces to stand down," he said.

"I know your secrets. I know your tactics. I know your strategy. I will do no such thing, Jedi."

"If you know I'm Jedi and you know my secrets, then you know you're not the only telepath in the room." He reached out with his mind and gripped hers. She physically recoiled as she had been attacked this way for the first time. She gritted her teeth as she writhed. Her entire body shook with rage. "You will surrender your forces."

She screamed in protest.

"Geonosia will never surrender!" she growled in long, forced screams. Mit'teem physically reached out with his left hand and drove into her mind.

Longshot again felt a rumble surge through the atmosphere. He had felt this before. The Commander was using the Force against this Geonosian Queen.

Mit'teem squinted his eyes, the red glow piercing through the slits of his eyelids. He flexed his hand into the shape of a knife and drove a wedge of the Force into her mind. Her head physically recoiled. The warriors began to close on Mit'teem.

"Now, Commander!" he shouted. The fourteen clones turned on every light they had. The warriors turned toward the lights and were momentarily stunned. The clones blasted them all down. Mit'teem felt the queen's resistance waiver as she was shocked by the light.

"You will stand down," he said in a commanding tone. Dirt began to rattle off the walls, and the rumble intensified as the Force surged out from Mit'teem in waves. Mit'teem felt the queen thrashing telepathically as he ripped through her mind to gain control.

"You will stand down," Grey heard Mit'teem say powerfully. Longshot glanced at the Jedi Padawan. Mit'teem's voice sounded doubled. The clone realized he was hearing the Jedi Padawan both over the comm circuit and in his head. The queen shrieked in a hate fill roar.

"I no submit to you!" she shouted slowly as she battled him. Mit'teem sifted through what thoughts he could understand. There was a lot of dirt and…what seemed to be reproduction. He saw the warriors taking eggs from her massive abdomen and press them into the walls. Then, he realized the lumps in the walls were eggs. They were surrounded by eggs. They were surrounded by her offspring. She realized that now he knew.

"We just found a trump card, didn't we, your highness?" he said. She tried to move but her mass held her where she was.

"You _will_ tell Poggle the Lesser to call off your forces." As she resisted, he drove deeper into her mind. He saw the warriors, droids, Poggle the Lesser, and other Geonocian generals. Another queen. Clones. _His_ clones. He saw severed arms, torsos and legs being eaten by the Geonocians. Then her. Her intent. _Her_ orders to do so.

"Oh," he said as he absorbed the realization. "Oh, I see. It was _your_ idea," he said in a low growl. He curled his flexed hand upward and shifted his use of the Force to around her neck and began to draw her toward him, her mass sliding across the floor. She twitched and attempted to thrash away from the invisible grip Mit'teem had on her. As he pulled her toward him with his left hand, he drew his lightsaber with this right. As she slowly slid across the ground, he drove his mind into hers and forced her to make eye contact with him.

"You want to be savage," he said flatly. She continued to close the gap between them as Mit'teem dragged her mass toward him. She thrashed her arms as if able to push against the air. The bright yellow blade of his lightsaber lanced out from its emitter face. It reflected off his armor in an ominous manner. She stopped five feet from him. "Then let's be savage."

With a flick of his wrist, the yellow blade passed through her left three arms.

Her limbs thumped against the ground. She stood stunned as what just happened. Grey coud not believe what he had just seen. The Jedi Padawan lowered his lightsaber as the queen's arms bounced across the ground.

"Sir?" he asked. A beat later, she let out a thunderous and pained scream. Mit'teem just watched her as she screamed for a long moment.

"You will stand down." Her head recoiled again as he drove into her mind again. "Commander Grey, light up your flame throwers."

"Yes, sir!" His four flame troopers slung their blasters and lifted their throwers and lit their pilot flames.

"I will burn down your empire," he said to her. "All of your unborn children. All of your history. It will _all burn_." He felt her begin to yield. She resisted again. "Commander Grey, fire the throwers on the walls."

"Commander?" Grey asked.

"Now," Mit'teem said bluntly.

"You heard the man!" Grey said. The clones sprayed the walls with the liquid fire. Yellow light lanced out and splashed the walls and silhouetted Mit'teem in black. Mit'teem maintained his glare into the queen's eyes as she watched it happen. She resisted, but all she saw his black figure broken only by two red, piercing eyes drilling into her own. She realized she had no recourse. She had no power. She attempted to thrash but for nothing. The eggs in the walls began to boil and burst. She was watching her future burn away. Mit'teem felt her yield. The telepathic static he heard coming from her changed. "All of them," he said.

Another long moment passed as she calmed, and Mit'teem felt her shift the tone of her telepathic emissions. He heard over his comms circuit there were legions of the bugs and droids retreating.

"We have cleared a way out of here, Commander!" Longshot said. Mit'teem extinguished his lightsaber. The flames licked up the walls as egg after egg boiled and burst.

"Good. We have an understanding, don't we, your highness?" He turned his hand palm out toward the queen and pushed her back away from him with the Force. "Get the men ready, Commander Grey. We're done here."

As he turned to leave, Mit'teem felt her reach out again with the original wave of telepathic power. She was attempting to order her troops to reattack. Mit'teem turned toward her and extended his left hand. He instantly formed a Force bubble inside of her brain and expanded it with all the effort he had.

Her skull exploded, and her massive hulking body slowly fell to the floor.

They all looked on as the fire still crackled. Mit'teem turned away from the mess of corpses in the cavern and walked past Commander Grey and Longshot.

"Move the men out," he said as he walked past the troopers with his lightsaber illuminating the way.

After a long moment, Longshot turned to Commander Gray.

"What just happened, sir?" he asked. Gray took a moment and glanced at Longshot.

"We just won the campaign. That's what just happened."

Mit'teem felt pressure on his chest, and he heard his name being called. He remembered using the Force to pull the worms out of the confined clones' noses and reviving them. They finally got everyone out of the catacomb safely, but someone called his name again. He felt pressure on his chest.

Mit'teem took in a sharp breath as he snapped awake. His heart was racing, and he felt like he had a fever. He quickly surveyed his surroundings.

"Mit'teem," Ashha whispered. He was still in bed. His body shuddered as he felt a shiver go down his spine. He coughed as he relaxed and tried to catch his breath. He put his right wrist over his eyes. Ashha spoke. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said between breaths.

"You're burning up," she said. He pressed his wrist into his eyes trying to hide what was racing through his mind. He still saw them. He saw his men butchered. The blood, the flesh, the tendons, the consuming. "Bad dream?" she asked. She examined him as he pivoted out of bed and stood naked.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry." He wiped his face as he still saw the images in his mind and stepped to the window. His inner eyebrows were arched upward as he took a deep breath and looked out at the city scape. His eyes glowed intensely as he tried to calm himself.

"What was it about?"

Mit'teem now found himself in a new, difficult position. No one had seen his unconscious reaction to memories. He looked out at the golden glow of Coruscant and tried to settle his mind. He massaged his throat with his hand as he looked out the window and took the time to decide what to say.

"It was war stuff."

Ashha looked on at him, the shadow of the slats dancing over his tall, athletic physique as he tried to catch his breath. He stared out into the distance in a way she had never seen him before. _War stuff_ , he had said. What did that mean? She knew he had spent time with the Grand Army of the Republic, but what could have happened to make him react like this?

"What kind of war stuff?" she asked. He shut his eyes and shook his head slightly.

"The bad stuff," he said. Then he whispered. "The stuff you don't want to know about."


	6. The New Mission

"Find Your Next Mission."

Mit'teem awoke slowly in his bed and looked at the ceiling of his dorm room. The golden light from the super buildings of Coruscant poured into his room. The light was cut by the horizontal blinds covering his windows. His eyes glowed especially bright in the low light. It was early, way earlier than most people wake up. He rotated in the bed, sat up, and put his feet on the short carpet. After a while, he had convinced Dramin to wake up this early every day after a single point. _We get up that early to be up before the enemy_ , he had told Dramin. Ever since then, they had been getting their weight workouts in every morning.

He took a deep breath and arched his back with his arms extended to his sides. He stretched and flexed every muscle in his upper body for five seconds. The veins in his neck bulged as he stretched hard. He relaxed and released a sigh and let his arms hang to his sides. It felt so good to get a solid stretch in first thing. He looked around his room and took a casual inventory of things. Everything was still as he left it. He shifted his glowing red eyes from object to object. He took a deep breath and sighed.

He was safe. He was in his dorm room. He was at the University of Coruscant. He was a "college kid". He blinked slowly and nodded as he pulled half a smile.

 _I've made the best of it,_ he thought. _I have my next mission._

He stood and winced at the pain in his legs.

"Leg day," he murmured to himself. His friend Dramin was a very leg-oriented guy. Apparently, his entire youth he was trained to use his legs. He ran with ease. He jumped with ease. He pressed over four hundred kilos with his legs. It was all Mit'teem could do to keep pace with the most minimal workout Dramin had…

…and Mit'teem loved it. He twisted his torso back and forth several times, popping the vertebra in his back with great relief. He walked to his closet to grab the day's clothing. As he passed the mirror, he caught his reflection out of the corner of his eye. He stopped not recognizing what he saw. He moved around a little, examined his arms, his chest, and back, and smiled. It was _him_. The hard work was paying off.

He continued to the closet and pulled the new underwear on followed by his long pants. He stepped in front of the mirror and examined the stubble on his face. It was filling in pretty quickly, but the area around his upper lip, around his mouth, and upper chin were growing much faster than the rest of his jaw-line. He quickly figured he would try something new. He used his vintage Mandalorian razor he had been given during the Clone Wars and shaved from the middle of his ear down and his neck. He craned his chin out for enough not to snag his v-shaped thyroid cartilage with the steel blade. He then shaved the rest from his cheeks down to his jaw line. He wiped his face clean and examined the remaining hair. He liked the look.

 _Why not try it?_ he thought.

While he had trimmed the hair on the sides of his head very close, he had had not cut the top his entire time in school. It had grown twenty-four centimeters over the past three semesters. It gave him the appearance of trimmed sides with slicked back shimmering black/blue hair.

He was satisfied with the work he had put in. This, however, was only a step. He must continue.

As Mit'teem continued his morning routine, he mentally went over a few things. He was a year and a half out of the Jedi Order, and the bad dreams had subsided. In fact, everything had subsided for the most part. Once in a while he would relive an event, but it was rare and no longer took place on Geonosia. Even more rarely, he would get hung up on a memory, but he would defuse it quickly. There was no use in getting wrapped up in it.

He went to his closet and grabbed his clothes. He pulled on a thick, hooded, short-sleeve t-shirt and pulled it tight down around his neck. While his torso was covered, his arms were exposed. He turned and opened his refrigerator. He pulled a slab of bacon, a carton of eggs, and some leafed geens out and placed them on his kitchen counter. He laid three strips of protein bacon on a pan and lit the stove heat pad. He cracked four eggs into another pan and grabbed a hand full of leafed greens. He grabbed the kitchen shears and cut the greens over the pan. In small strips, they fell over the eggs, and he lit the burner.

Mit'teem watched both pans cook the meal. He reflected that he had gotten over the trama of being expelled from the Jedi Order in recent months. Ever since he had the dream of that fateful day where he killed the Geonosian Queen, and saw so many of his Clone troopers mutilated, he had been moving beyond it and healing from it. He grabbed the spatula and carefully flipped the bacon over as it sizzled and cooked.

While he had never lost his confidence as a combatant in war, he realized that he was not wrong in his beliefs. The fact that the Jedi Council had expelled him should have _no_ impact on his confidence in how he lived his life. Many of the values he had and beliefs he operated off were in line with the Jedi's; the only difference was they had kicked him out. He concluded that they were more right than wrong. However, what they were wrong at was actually very _in-depth_.

As the bacon and eggs were done, he turned each burner off and slid each onto a plate. He arranged the items individually onto the plate and walked to his couch. He sat down and turned on his holo display. As he broke the eggs up with is fork, he listened to the news report. Mit'teem put the full fork of eggs into his mouth, pulled the fork out and chewed. He set the fork down and picked up a piece of bacon crunching down as the speakers fill the apartment.

Bacon was so awesome.

"Attack on the Citadel!" the announcer-like voice said as the Conflict-in-a-Moment segment came on the news. Mit'teem looked up and watched the graphic as he loaded his fork with scrambled eggs. "Violence in the outer rim. The Grand Army of the Republic successfully executed a daring rescue operation under the leadership of Jedi Generals Obiwan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker freeing several naval officers from the maximum security Separatist POW facility known as the Citadel!"

Mit'teem rolled his eyes and shook his head as he ate another piece of bacon.

"Anakin Skywalker swooping in to save the day," he said under his breath. The announcer voice continued, but Mit'teem did not listen. He really did not like Skywalker. That guy was a total loss as far as he was concerned. Skywalker constantly violated everything the Jedi stood for…but guess what? He was the "Chosen One". He got a _lot_ of special privileges.

Mit'teem reflected that he was not really over everything. One thing he was having trouble letting go was that turd, Skywalker. That guy was rumored to have done so many worse things than he had proving there was no consistency in the Order. Mit'teem had lost all confidence in the Jedi Order as he learned more and more about the lack of consistency of standards.

What the hell ever. He swallowed the last of the bacon and eggs. He stood back up with the rewarding pain in his legs and walked to the kitchen. As he washed the grease off the plate, he recognized the fact he was pursuing a new life anyway.

He set the plate into the dryer rack and moved back to his closet. He grabbed the next shirt off the stack and puled it on and straightened it around his waist.

He grabbed his backpack off the ground and slung it over his shoulders and grabbed his water bottle off the kitchen sink. His stomach was full, and his mind was right. As he opened the door to his dorm room and stepped through the threshold, he reflected on that fateful day and what was told to him. This time he reflected without remorse or disdain. He closed the door behind him with a –

\- BOOM! -

The sound of the massive double doors of the leading into the Jedi Council Chamber closing echoed through the hallway as Mit'teem and his master Plo Koon walked away from the Jedi Council. Plo Koon held Mit'teem's lightsaber in his right hand and had his left on his former Padawan's shoulder. Mit'teem's vision was tunneled down into the floor as he and his former master walked away from his future as a Jedi. His blue skin was almost ashened, and his normally bright red eyes had only a faint glow to them.

He could not believe it. He was stunned. It was such a massive decision that was made…arbitrarily. His eyes shuffled around as he searched his brain for some explanation, some sort of justification…but he could find none.

The double standard was unbelievable. It was shockingly unfair. It was unacceptable. Skywalker! He was known for doing so much worse, and he was rumored to have committed high level war crimes. What was the difference?

Anakin Skywalker was the "Chosen One". That's what the difference was.

Double standard. Hypocrisy.

Everything he knew was now in called into question. How could he trust anything? Everyone he knew, everything he knew, even his ubiquitous companion, the Force, was being taken from him. His entire foundation of beliefs was crumbling before him.

Like an echo in his head, he heard his name. It took the name being repeated again for him to understand someone was calling his name. He snapped his head up and saw a large man, a Jedi Master blocking their way. The man was tall, large, and broad. He immediately recognized the Jedi Master who stood before him.

This was one of the most incredible Jedi he had ever known. He was strong, he was smart, and he was wise. He had taught Mit'teem and the other advanced Padawans everything they knew about hand to hand combat. His hair was shaved to a close crop. The master didn't wear the traditional Jedi robes like most, instead he either wore the variant of Clone armor he wore in battle or he wore a grappling gi with the right side of the tunic wrapped over the left side held secure at his waist with a utility belt. Today, it was the grappling gi, and from the utility belt hung a clean yet rugged lightsaber. His eyes were narrowed rectangles, and his jaw was square.

This was Jedi Master Willink. Most knew him as "Jocko".

Mit'teem met eyes with Master Willink's. He tried to speak, but there was no breath to be had.

"I hear you're expelled," Master Willink said. It was literally all Mit'teem could do to not break into tears. "So what happened?" he asked. Mit'teem was very conflicted and didn't know how to approach the Master's question. He broke eye contact with Master Willink, and the two Jedi Masters watched the former Padawan search his mind for what to say. After a moment passed, Mit'teem collected himself and met the Master's eyes again.

"I made a mistake," he said directly. Master Willink lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head slightly, "and now I don't know what's going to happen." Mit'teem felt his eyes begin to well with tears.

"You're standing at the edge of a cliff, aren't you?" Master Willink asked flatly. Mit'teem stood still. "Did you learn from that mistake?"

"It just happened. I," Mit'teem paused at a loss for words. Master Willink understood.

"Mit'teem," he said, "I don't care what they said in there. They have a job to do. I still care about you and your future. So does Master Plo," he said gesturing to the Keldor Jedi Master standing at Mit'teem's side.

"So, you're on a cliff edge, right?"

"Yes," Mit'teem said softly.

"Good," Master Willink said.

Mit'teem almost imperceptibly nodded in response. He had heard it before, but he didn't see where the good was in this. He was being barred from using his skills. He was barred from sharing his past. He didn't even know what the next hour held. How was this good? Mit'teem squinted his eyes and shook his head, exasperated, and looked back up at Master Willink.

"How? Master?" he asked with frustration in his voice. "How is this good?"

"It gives you an opportunity," Master Willink said flatly. "You can begin again." He let the comment hang in the air.

Mit'teem didn't want to begin again! He had already built a life with friends and had become proficient in an unimaginable profession. At fifteen years of age, he had led troops into combat. He had the privilege of earning the trust and loyalty of a race of people _literally_ bred for combat.

The Jedi Master spoke again.

"You will take responsibility for what happened," Master Willink said as he tapped his chest, signifying an internal realization, "in here, and you will learn from it." Another long pause passed between the Jedi Masters Willink and Plo Koon and the former Padawan. Mit'teem looked up back up at him. "You fell. Now get back up. Dust yourself off. Recalibrate. Re-engage." The comment hung powerfully in the air. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"

Mit'teem drew that thought and concept into the storm that was swirling in his brain. He understood.

"Yes."

"Good. Then you still have fight left in you. This chapter of your life is closed. Find your next mission. Lock on and get after it."

"You would be wise to heed his words," Plo Koon said over Mit'teem's shoulder. Mit'teem tried to subtly hold his tears in as he sniffled once. He was at a loss of how to ask the question, so it just came out as a statement.

"I need a little more guidance than that," he said flatly.

"You are without a lightsaber, and you have to disconnect from the Force, _but_ ," he said with a hard _but_ , "you get to start again at the University of Coruscant. That is an opportunity most do not get. You know the path," he said. Mit'teem nodded.

"The warpath," Mit'teem responded.

"Yes. The course of your life has now changed. However, _stay_ on that warpath. Keep your body fit and strong; grapple, lift weights. Keep your mind fit; choose a field at the university and learn all you can. Keep your spirit fit; surround yourself with good people who want to see you succeed and who you want to succeed. None of that changes now that you're outside of the Order."

Mit'teem showed that while he was beaten up badly, he assimilated what the Jedi Master had told him. He finally nodded slightly, looked up and met the Jedi's eyes.

"Keep my discipline," he said. Master Willink raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. What else?"

"Keep moving toward the battle if it's combat," he said as a tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped it away. He sighed in resignation, "or if it's myself."

The Jedi Master watched the young man. His blue skin more pale than normal. His glowing red eyes not so bright, and his posture slightly hunched. Master Willink nodded and then spoke.

"Good." Another beat passed between them. Then, Mit'teem wiped his cheek again, took a deep breath, and straightened his back. His skin seemed to deepen in blue slightly, and his eyes glowed a little brighter as he looked the Master Jedi in the eye again.

"Thank you, Master Willink."

The Jedi Master nodded.

"You are welcome," he Reached his hand out, and after a moment, Mit'teem took it. "I will see you if I see you, Mit'teem."

They released each other's grip, and Master Plo led Mit'teem away. Master Willink watched the two walk down the long hallway knowing that Mit'teem would never return to the Jedi Order. He knew, however, if anyone would make the most of life outside the Order, it would be Mit'teem.

\- Author's note: The council given is a form of the "Good" speech given by Jocko Willink. Find him on youtube and prepare to have your life rocked. As Master Plo said, "You would be wise to heed his words."


	7. Overcome Your Fear

Overcome Your Fear…or Your Fear Will Overcome You.

Dramin stood at the base of a tall stair case that led up several levels. He noticed the night air was cool as he stood in front of the train station looking up at the sign. The wind blew through his now short hair, and the light shown brightly off his extremely reflective gold irises. Kage eyes were so reflective they looked as if they were backlit. He felt the air blow over the purple skin of his exposed face. He wore boots he could run in, elasticized pants that would allow him free movement for long strides or kicks if needed, and a short sleeve shirt under a hooded coat. He could run, he could jump, he had the upper body strength to completely control his body, but he stood paralyzed by his own resistance at the base of the stairs. He sighed unconsciously and realized that while he could do all these things, he was finding it impossible to simply climb a flight of stairs.

Twice now, he had refused to go on adventures with his friends, because he was afraid. Then, he heard it. He heard the mechanical whine of the coming hover train. He instinctually squinted his eyes, gritted his teeth, and turned his head down and away from the sound.

The sound of the train. It made him remember.

On his home planet, it was only recently that his people had only narrowly won a civil war. Years before, the other species on his planet, the Baloogans, had managed to come to power over his people without anybody realizing their true intentions before it was too late. In retrospect, all the indicators had been there; identity politics, radical one-sided debates, students and intellectuals being driven from higher institutes of learning. All the signs had been there. To their credit, some had recognized the signs and raised warnings, but no one listened until it was too late.

Dramin took a deep breath and collected himself against the sound of the train. He knew he needed to overcome this. He realized his fear was inhibiting and misshaping the course of his life, and that was no good. The method to success is taking the first step. He engaged his leg muscles to lift his foot. He lifted it, but set it back down to where it had been. He clinched his fist and flexed his arms in disappointment. As he took a deep breath he opened his hands and looked at the palms of his hands. Like him, they were hardened, they were calloused, they were powerful. He had wielded swords with lethal effect. He had punched, grabbed, choked, and crushed windpipes. Dramin ran his thumbs over the callouses between the tops of his palms and the baes of his fingers as he recalled the experiences. He had taken lives with these hands. He lowered his hands to his sides, and looked at the stairs leading up to the station.

He needed to do this. He lifted his leg again, and pushed it forward, leaning with his weight. His boot landed on the first step.

He had taken the first step.

Dramin engaged his legs again and again until finally, his eyes broke the surface of the platform, and he saw it. Past the turn-styles, he saw the train. It was almost too much, but he narrowed his eyes and looked at it.

He had been shuttled on and off of trains like cattle many times, but the first time he had been amongst the normal population of Baloogans. Dramin remembered the smell of body odor as a large number of Kage had been rounded up and marched to the train station. The fat, slovenly Baloogans commuters and guards simply stood by as the athletic, purple skin Kage were loaded onto the cars like property to be thrown away. In the dark of the train cars, as they were being shuttled to internment camps, all that could be seen was the light reflecting off their golden and purple eyes. During the run-up, the Baloogans began calling the Kage "R'staskef Aukem" with a racist overtone in their native language. It translated to "Bright Eyes" in Galactic Basic.

Dramin shifted his course to the ticket station closed on it. He looked up at a massive map that crisscrossed with brilliantly lit train lines leading across different destinations. He was impressed with the expansiveness of the Coruscant mass transit system.

 _Yokahakma sounds good_ , Dramin thought to himself. It was a destination that was only ten minutes away. He was going to start small and work his way up. He punched in the code for a destination, and the ticket was credited onto his ID. He proceeded to the turnstile, waved the card over the sensor, and walked through. Before he knew it, Dramin was on a train platform for the first time in years. He stopped three meters from the edge of the platform and looked at the train. The doors on the car slid shut, and the train whooshed away. The gritted his teeth.

He tried not to, but he could not help but to remember. As the next train came he forced himself to watch it. It stopped in front of him, and its doors slid open. Commuters flowed out and around him, and others flowed into the car moving on with their days. Dramin stood still. He tried, but he couldn't move. It was as if his feet had been welded to the platform. The doors closed, and the train left with a whoosh!

Dramin let out a heavy sigh and realized he had held his breath the entire time the train had been there. He clenched his fists, jaw, and eyes closed. He could not believe he was being such a wuss about this.  
As the wind from the train flowed over him, he cringed. Finally, he opened his eyes. The memories of his people being shipped away to camps were disturbingly vivid in his mind. He remembered when he had to smelt metals, work in factories, and serve the Baloogan guards and administrators. Then there were the Kage females. They were usually separated from the rest of the population and used for other things.

Dramin forced himself to watch the next train approach. The train slowed to a stop ahead of him, and the doors opened. The people flowed out and around him. He felt it again, the resistance as he was frozen in place. He tried to advance, but the doors closed, and the train moved away. He recoiled to himself as he leaned his head back and cursed to himself.

"Oh my God," he said in an exasperated tone. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, but he couldn't. He stood there with his hands clenched into fists and his shoulder slightly hunched, his back muscles visible under the coat. He recognized the feeling. His body was cocked and ready to run...to escape.

Dramin looked down at the trestle where the train had been just a moment ago and replayed in his mind's eye instances when there had been so many Kage piled on the platform waiting to be loaded onto the next train that some had fallen onto the trestle as the train approached. He could still hear their screams as they were crushed by the hover train's repulsed lifts.

"Come on, Kage Warrior," he said, mocking himself. He grabbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. Here he was, a competent martial artist, runner, jumper, striker, soldier, and he was cowering in the mere presence of a train. He heard the next train making its approach.

This was his chance. This was his shot. Nothing stood in his way but himself. It was time to overcome his internal barriers. He looked to his left and saw the next train coming. He had to do this. The train's head lights flashed past him, and the cars slowed to a stop. The doors opened, and the next set of commuters flowed around him. As the doors began to close, he focused his effort and pushed past the resistance. He shot his hand in between the doors triggering the safety sensor. The doors opened back up, then he leaned his weight forward.

Step.

Dramin's foot landed inside of the car, and his second lifted off the platform cross to the gap, and landed inside. He had done it. Dramin exhaled sharply as he made a quick scan of the car's interior. The other commuters looked him looked at him with quizzical looks. A touch of relief washed away some of his anxiety as he looked around and saw peaceful civilians all around him. He smiled awkwardly as the doors slide shut behind him. He grabbed an overhead hand grip and squeezed. There was a tone, and the train accelerated quickly to its cruising speed. He looked to an old woman sitting on the bench beside him who was looking up at him.

"Are you alright, son?" She asked. After a moment, he smiled.

"Yes, I have a hard time with trains."

She slightly cocked her head. "Why?" She asked.

Dramin processed the question on top of everything else that was swirling around inside him. He was riding dangerously close to breaking down. He paused a long moment as he tried to verbalize the rush of images shooting through his mind, but he could not. He could only see it in his mind. He furrowed his brow and looked away as he collected himself and simply forced it out.

"When I was a child, I was sent to a concentration camp on a train." He finally looked back to her. "So, I associate them together." The woman sat still watching Dramin and finally nodded.

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," she said softly. "Was it part of the Clone Wars?"

"No, it was a civil war on my planet," he said with a sigh. She shook her head slightly.

"Oh, dear," she said with a note of sadness. She patted the seat next to her with her hand. "Have a seat with me." He tightened his grip on the handhold. It was all Dramin could do to furrow his brow and then closed his eyes against the potential implications. She probably wanted to talk about it. He did not. Then again, he considered maybe he needed to. He moved his body and let go of the grip. He stepped into the seat and sat next to her. He extended his hand.

"My name is Dramin." She took his hand and squeezed.

"My name is Illana," she said with a smile. As they released grips, she examined him. "What people are you?" She asked.

"I am Kage," he said. She squinted and cocked her head slightly.

"I have never heard of the Kage. What world is that from?" she asked with a quizzical look.

"It's called Corzite. It's a planet on the inner rim near the Unknown Regions."

"I see," she said. "What happened?" she asked. _Damn it_ , he thought. She asked. He needed to hold himself together. This time, he took a deep breath and relaxed.

"It was difficult," Dramin finally said. He interlocked his fingers. "Only a quarter of us survived." He thought about it for a long moment. "It was bad." He realized that he was not actually answering her question.

She put her hand on the inside of his knee and squeezed.

"You are safe here," she said. He considered the statement and forced a slight smile.

"Am I?" he asked. "Are you?"

"Of course we are!" she said with an obvious and oblivious tone. "We are members of the Galactic Republic," she said. Dramin took a deep breath and looked out the window.

"I can only hope." He shifted his eyes back to her and saw her staring at him the small smile on her face.

"Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes?" she asked. He flashed an unconsciously sheepish smile and looked away.

"Thank you. My people are known for our eyes."

"You are very uncomfortable, aren't you?" she asked with a worried look. Dramin again sheepishly smiled.

"Yes. I am trying to get over the fear."

"That takes strength and wisdom," she said.

"Thank you," Dramin said as he slowed his thoughts. He was not used to getting so many compliments.

"What do your tattoos represent?" She asked. Dramin figured she was referring to the tattoos visible on his face. All the rest were concealed beneath his clothing. He touched the one on his forehead.

"This one is my family's symbol. The rest represent battles I've been in and various achievements."

"There is a lot to you, isn't there, Dramin?" she asked. He gave her a modest smile.

"No more than anyone else," he said deflecting any kind of sympathy.

"No, I think there is." She examined him. "You were very striking Dramin," she said.

"Fortune favors the prepared," he said softly remembering the mantra his leader, Krismo Sodi had drilled into them. He then looked down to his hands. "Or so I can only hope."

"You look good for having been to a concentration camp," she said. He nodded slightly.

"Thank you," he responded. He wasn't going to run away from it anymore. He drew a careful breath. "I realize I didn't answer your question earlier about what happened." He looked off into the distance as he recalled the events. "They came for us at night. They took us from our homes and loaded us into police transports. They took us to a train station and then to processing camps. The families were separated, and we were processed. The work was hard, but the punishments were worse."

Dramin stood barefoot on the cold floor in the rags they were issued after their own clothes had torn and rotted away. They all wore dark grey control collars around their necks. They gave the Baloogan guards the ability to control them. Typically they were used as invisible leashes.

A line of twenty Kage adolescents stood in the examination rooms. Every once in a while, they were taken off the labor line and given medical examinations. Dramin felt as if their physical endurance was being studied. They stood on footprints that had been painted on the floor. The inspection room was pristine white and accented with stainless steel tables, tools, mirrors, and transparasteel windows. The adolescent ahead of Dramin looked around. Dramin noticed that he also stood slightly off of the footprints. Dramin had seen this before, he had even done it. This was a micro protest to get one over on their captors.

"Look straight ahead, bright eyes," one of the Baloogan guards said to the adolescent male ahead of him. "Get back on the footprints," he said. At this point, Dramin had been disciplined enough times to know not to talk.

 _Just do it!_ Dramin shouted in his head. He ineffectually willed with everything he had as he kept his gaze straight. The Baloogan closest to them closed in on the adolescent ahead of Dramin.

"I won't repeat myself, boy," he said. The adolescent locked eyes with the Baloogan. "Oh, I see," the Baloogan guard said. He stepped a few paces away from the line and pulled a control asp from his belt and pointed to the floor just outside of the line. "Step out, boy," he said. Dramin kept looking forward, unflinching with fear growing in him.

The Baloogan pointed his control asp at the rebelling adolescent. His neck collar hummed, and it pulled him out of the line. After it drew him out, the Baloogan slammed the asp into his solo plexus, and he doubled over. As he bent over, the collar hummed a deep rumble and forced him to stand. The boy chirped out a cry in pain as the asp struck his liver through is solar plexus. The Baloogan hit him again, and the young Kage's legs collapsed from beneath him. He moaned in pain, and literally hung from his collar.

Dramin had to stand there and watch the young adolescent suffer and struggle to stand. The Baloogan leaned into the adolescent, inches away from his face.

"Your reputation will proceed you to the next station, bright eyes." The guard held the control asp back up and forced the adolescent Kage back into line. The door ahead of them wooshed open, and the line began walking again. They moved into the next room and settled on a new set of foot prints. There was another set of guards and one Baloogan standing behind a desk. He appeared to flip through digital displays of each Kage.

Dramin noticed an older adolescent Kage standing restrained in the corner. He stood shivering as he looked toward the opposite bulkhead with a crushed expression. The silence was deafening. The Baloogan behind the desk finally spoke.

"I hear there have been disciplinary issues," he said without looking up from the console. "There is one in every group." A moment passed, and he looked up from his data console. "Remove your shirts and hold them out in your right hand." They all pulled their shirts off the way they had been taught. Dramin did it with the rest. He folded his shirt with everyone else as instructed. They held their shirts to their right sides. "Drop them," the Baloogan said again, and they did. "Remove the rest and hold them in your right hand," he said. All that was left was their loose pants, not even undergarments. As they all stood frozen, a guard began to advance on the group. Then they complied. They all dropped their pants to their ankles, stepped out of them, and folded them. They held them to their right side. "Drop them," he said again.

They all stood nude profile to the Baloogan. The floor was cold. The air was cold. There was a slight breeze blowing across them. Dramin began to shiver. The rest ahead of him began to shiver, then tremble. The minutes passed like hours as they all stood there shaking in their skins. The sound of a control asp rumbled through the air with a base filled _thrum!_

"Rebellious tendencies will not be tolerated," the Baloogan behind the desk said. The adolescent ahead of him was dragged by control collar out into the middle of the room. The Baloogan looked up and briefly examined the nude Kage. He looked away and shook his head as he examined his data console.  
"The endowment of you Kage never ceases to amaze me," he said. He tapped the controls on his console dragging the Kage in the corner to the middle of the room as well. "Now it will be used against you." The two stood next to each other. "Physical pain has lost its effect on you, Kage. Now, we will wound your pride," he said. He tapped a command into the console causing the other Kage to arch his back and flex every muscle in his body as electricity shot through him from head to toe. The _humm_ subsided, and he nearly collapsed as the pain stopped. The apparent intended result, was that he was now sexually engorged.  
"Now you will learn, bright eyes," the Baloogan said as he tapped new set of commands into the console. The _verumm_ rumbled through the room again as the two Kage were forced into movement. Dramin and the rest of the Kage were forced to watch the larger Kage under control of the Baloogan violate the one who had acted out. It was hard, and it was violent. They both cried out in pain. "You don't stop until you're finished," the Baloogan had said.  
After a long engagement, the two Kage pulled apart. The larger man had tears streaming from his eyes and down his nose. The adolescent looked at the ground with is eyebrows arched as he limped from the middle of the room back to his vacant place in line. "Will you act out again, bright eyes?" the Baloogan asked.

"No, yeche," the adolescent said quietly.

Dramin sat on the seat leaning forward on his forearms with his hands clasped and fingers interlocked remembering it all.

"It was bad." He mentally moved his mind past the abuse. "They moved us from place to place, from camp to camp," he paused, "on trains."

The lights flashed across the faces of the Kage men as they rocked back and forth in the freight train car. They were packed inside the car of the hover train nearly shoulder to shoulder. This was the third time he was being moved from one camp to another. As always, there was no word where they were going. There was no word what their future was. They simply got on the train and were sent away again. It didn't matter to most of them anymore. Many of their spirits had been broken. His stomach ached. It no longer growled. It no longer felt empty. It simply ached. He had heard during one of the medical examinations that he had dropped from seventy-five kilos to fifty. The Kage were known for being genetically lean, so if they ever lost weight, whatever little fat they had was burned through quickly, and then they began consuming their muscle, bone, and organs. They were all in the same condition. They had all lost at least fifty percent of their body weights. They all swayed back and forth quiet and unspeaking as the train shifted back and forth through turns.

Dramin looked around at the group of golden eyes as they looked at the ground. They looked beaten, fatigued, and broken. He was tired. He was fatigued, but he liked to believe he was not yet broken. He had lost track of how long they had been on the train, but he had managed to keep track of how long they had been captive. He had been able to scratch little dots in his left forearm. He realized over time the tiny wounds would discolor his skin into tiny scars. He had not yet done it for that day.

He reached into his mouth and ran his finger across his pallet. The Baloogans were good at searching the rest of their bodies, but they didn't search their mouths very well. Dramin had been able to press a small piece of metal between his left canine tooth and first molar. He pulled the piece out and turned the sharp end out. Dramin held his left forearm out and ran his pinky across the tiny wounds and found the most recent one. As the light flashed by, he lined the sharp end next to the last mark and pressed the sharp metal into his skin and twisted it in a circle drawing a little blood. He examined the wound and was blankly satisfied. He opened his mouth and lined the piece of metal up between his teeth bit down, driving the piece deep between his teeth. He sighed as he tasted his own blood. He turned his forearm back up so he could see the scars and scabs. That day made two-hundred and seventy-nine days in captivity.

Dramin casually put his head into his hands and wiped them down from his eyes to his chin as he gathered his thoughts.

"It was three years into it," he said. "We were being moved to another camp when we were rescued."

His eyes were drawn toward the windows as he saw shadows move past them. He looked out and saw what looked like people jumping across the cars. Then he saw one stop and look into the car. He saw bright gold eyes looking in.

Were these Kage? Were these Kage _Warriors?_ He considered to himself. He saw the golden eyes outside the car lock eyes with _him_ for a moment before the man leapt away. The sound of footsteps pattered across the top of the train car. The doors on both ends of the car opened, and suddenly smoke erupted into the car. Dramin heard punching and _oofing_ of the guards. A man in a dark uniform landed in front of him, his face shrouded in a mask save for a slat across his eyes, his golden eyes! As quickly as he landed, he rebounded and jumped away, taking out another guard.

"Hold on, everyone!" a Kage voice said in their language. The doors shut, and more foot impacts thumped across the roof of the car.

"What's going on," someone rasped in a voice that had not been used in days. "Hold on," a voice said powerfully. "It's not over." Dramin looked in the direction of the voice and could see the outline of a tall man holding two short swords that sizzled with blue energy. The man turned his head to Dramin and locked eyes with him.

"Are you a Kage Warrior?" Dramin whispered. The man sheathed the blades behind his back and took a knee next to Dramin, placing a hand on Dramin's shoulder. The mask moved slightly over the man's face as he spoke.

"Yes," he said, "but be quiet for now." Dramin nodded, and the man returned the gesture before he stood again. Two to three minutes passed as they waited. Finally, they heard the Kage Warriors talking amongst each other.

"The train is secured." They felt the cars impact together as the train began to rapidly slow. There were murmurs amongst the group. Suddenly the front and rear hatches opened. The smoke quickly blew away as the wind whipped through the train car. Then Dramin saw them in full detail, the Kage Warriors. They were real! He looked around the car and saw five of them as they communicated with each other through hand signals. The cars slowed and finally stopped. A hushed murmur whispered amongst the group. After a moment, another Kage Warrior landed in the front hatch's opening. The warriors parted as the unknown man walked into the car. He had a thick, muscled body, adorned battle armor, and he wore a mask that was gilded with gold details. He pulled his mask off exposing the chiseled, purple face of a Kage male. He looked across the group with bright, confident, golden eyes.

"Be calm," he said. "My name is Krismo Sodi. We are from the resistance. We are rescuing you."

Dramin nodded as he recalled the event. "That was when I met our leader, Krismo." He smiled slightly. "He took us in. Then I began training to become a Kage Warrior. We began eating better and training hard." He shifted his eyes to hers. "Then I became part of the resistance."

"Amazing," she said, "and you survived this." He nodded. "What do you do now?

"Now, I am at the University of Coruscant studying structural engineering and psychology."

"Wonderful," she said. He smiled again.

"Thank you," he said. "I have made incredible friends and learned a lot about the galaxy and about people. There seems to be this consistent," he paused as he searched for an appropriate word, "thing...across all the species where we have to be very careful."

"The flaws of humanity?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, it's not a human thing. Neither the Kage nor Baloogans were human. It's something about our sentient nature that we have to be very careful about." She listened closely. He shook his head and looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so dark."

After a long moment, she spoke. "No, you're right. We have more to worry about than I thought."

"Possibly," he said, "but I feel very fortunate to be here. The fact I can eat a meal with my friends, go to class, walk around freely without any threat is not lost on me."

"Sasebo. Sasebo," the announcement system said. Illana extended her hand, and Dramin took it.

"Thank you, Dramin," she said, "I am glad to have met you." He softly gripped her hand. "You have made my day. Thank you for your wisdom." They released hands.

"Thank you for yours," he said. "May I walk you out?" he asked as she struggled to stand. She settled her feet beneath her and stood up straight. "If you would be so kind." He rose and grabbed her hand. As the other commuters flowed around them, he slowly walked her to the door. He placed his hand on the door to keep it open as they approached it. They walked through the door and stepped onto the platform. She turned to him.

"Thank you, Dramin. It was wonderful meeting you. Live well," she said. Dramin bowed slightly.

"And you." The doors slid closed, and they waved to each other as the train accelerated away. He considered the conversation. He took an unconsciously deep sigh.

"En-shuan," he said to himself. The chaos settled in his mind. Dramin was far more relaxed. He looked out the window and considered the concept. He wondered if his point of view was obsolete now that he was on such a safe world as Coruscant. The social sciences professors certainly made it sound like adhering to soldier-like principles was unnecessary on such a world as Coruscant. However, his gut told him otherwise.

He realized that this had been the first time he had verbalized the events to anyone outside the Kage Brotherhood. He didn't realize how good he felt quantifying the experiences was. His eyes moved back and forth as he ran through the thoughts. He realized that he needed to trust his friends a lot more, Mit'teem in particular. If anyone could understand the chaos of his experiences, it was Mit'teem.

Again, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Yokahakma, Yokahakma," the overhead announcement system said. He gripped the overhead hand hold a little harder as the train slowed. The train came to a stop, and the doors opened. The commuters flowed past him. When they had all passed, he released the overhead grip and stepped out of the car and onto the platform. He stood on the concrete and breathed as the train whooshed away from behind him. In the following silence, he opened his eyes and examined his surroundings. The area was beautiful. The concrete ground was smooth. The buildings around him were tall and elegant. His stomach growled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After holding his breath for a long time, he exhaled and looked around.

He had done it.

Since he was there, he was going to find something to eat…and think.


	8. Iron Sharpens Iron - No Slack

"Iron Sharpens Iron...

...No Slack"

Mit'teem set the dial on the grav plates to one-hundred and forty kilograms. They were arranged on either side of a long, chrome bar about twenty-eight millimeters in diameter. It was sitting on a rack about shoulder height for Mit'teem. Taller than Mit'teem, he would begin the motion slightly lower than he normally would. The gym bustled around them with fellow UoC students keeping themselves physically fit.

"Six by six at seventy-percent of the max squat then immediately fifteen pull-ups," Dramn said. At this point in their training, they both could max out at over thirty pull-ups and squat-press over two hundred. Dramin's legs were way stronger than Mit'teem's, but from what Mit'teem had heard Dramin had trained running and jumping his entire life. This was going to be a good pattern.

Mit'ttem smiled and shook his head. He grabbed the anti-grav bar off the ground and typed a command into it. Its ends glowed suddenly making it weightless. "A hell of a way to end the week," he said as he lifted the bar as high as he could reach in the air. With a small jump, he lifted it higher, let go of it, and it locked into position. He stepped into the rack and rubbed his hands together. "Here goes."

Mit'teem stepped underneath the bar and set it behind his neck on top of his shoulders. When he was a padawan, this is where he would reach into the Force and gather strength to augment his physical strength, but that was no longer an option. He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes closed, and gathered himself. They referred to this as "zoning". Mit'teem stood, lifting the bar off the rack. He took two steps back squatted. He lowered himself far enough for his upper ad lower legs to break ninety-degrees and fired his legs again standing up straight. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Dramin cranking out his pull-ups. Mit'teem steadied himself and squatted again. He exhaled as he stood. He inhaled and lowered himself again. When he hit the bottom of the squat, he then pushed his legs and stood again. He performed this three more times.

After his six repetitions, Mit'teem stepped forward and placed the bar against the rack and lowered it onto a pair of hooks. He stepped out from under the bar, leaving it attached to the rack. He traded places with Dramin. At the pull-up bar, he jumped up onto it, arranged his hands slightly wider than shoulder width and pulled himself up where his collar bone was parallel with the bar, and he lowered himself, locking his arms out. He repeated the movement as Dramin performed the same squatting motion as Mit'teem had just performed.

This cycle took place six times. Mit'teem breathed deeply as his back, arms, legs, and core were on fire. He stepped out from behind the squat bar again. Then he struggled to get out the last of his pull-ups. He dropped of the bar and felt smoked. He audibly exhaled as he felt like he was about to vomit. The burn flowed through him. His legs burned. His back burned. His arms burned. His entire body was on fire. Dramin took a swig of his water bottle and cursed in a non-basic language. Mit'teem immediately recognized the expression. It was Sy Bisti, a wild space language he learned when he was a very young child, before the Jedi. The expression was a very colorful way of describing violent and profane acts against himself. Mit'teem pulled half a smile. Either Dramin had memorized a very specific curse phrase in Si Bisti or he knew the language. Mit'teem would bet money he knew Sy Bisti. That was good to know.

"Are you ready for the next thing?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem glanced at him.

"Oh, yeah," he said. Dramin pointed to the dojo.

"Now, we spar."

Mit'teem let out a laugh and wiped his nose with he back off his hand. "Of course we will."

They walked into the dojo and began removing their shoes. "Gi, no gi?" Mit'teem asked.

"No gi," Dramin said. "Just what you have on."

They took the same stance with their left legs blades toward each other, their rights behind them, their right hands clenched in fists guarding the same side of their heads with heir left hands extended toward them both with their wrists parallel each other. With great speed and reactions, they clashed with fists, forearms, elbows, knees, feet, and shins. Mit'teem's arms began to sag down and away from us face as he blocked and swung kicks at Dramin. Dramin was taller and more conditioned than Mit'teem, giving him a deeper gas tank, and he was using hat to his advantage. As he continued to strike and absorb Mit'teem's strikes, Mit'teem's guard dropped more and more. Then, in a flash, Dramin swept Mit'teem's feet out from under him and used his momentum to swing around, brace his right hand on the ground as he cocked his left leg and threw it into Mit'teem's chest. Before Mit'teem hit the ground, Dramin had struck him twice and wrecked his equilibrium. As Mit'teem hit the mat, Dramin pounced. He leaped onto Mit'teem slapping his face to distract him a micro second long enough to pin his arm under his torso. Dramin pressed his right knee into Mit'teem's lower back, grabbed his right arm and pulled it to the middle of his back and leaned onto the back of Mit'teem's head with his left forearm, effectively bringing Mit'teem from his feet to a pinned position in less than two seconds.

Mit'teem squinted his eyes and clenched his teeth as he panted hard trying to catch his breath. As he opened his mouth in an effort to catch his breath, his tongue rubbed against the mat. The taste almost made him vomit.

"Fucking, gross!" he said through gritted teeth. Dramin leaned his weight onto the back of Mit'teem's head and lowered his head close to Mit'teem's ear and whispered.

"What's the color of the mat?" Dramin asked, taunting him. Mit'teem growled as his nose folded over. "What's the color of the mat?" Dramin asked again.

"It's blue," Mit'teem responded.

"What?" Dramin asked as Mit'teem struggled to free his hands and get them under him but failed. "It's blue?" Dramin asked.

"Yes," Mit'teem said as his face crushed the mat.

"Blue like what?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem grumbled and let slip a light growl as he struggled. "Blue like what?" Dramin asked again a little louder his time. Mit'teem felt his shoulder going.

"The mat is blue like me!" he finally shouted into the mat. Dramin laughed and rolled off Mit'teem and stood in one fluid motion. He extended his hand helping Mit'teem onto his feet.

"You're a Dragstian ass," Mit'teem said. Dramin smiled and slapped him on the shoulder.

"You have to keep your guard up. You're a great striker and grappler, but I found your weakness," he said with a hardened look.

"What's that?" Mit'teem asked as he wiped the pain away from his nose. "You drop your guard when you get tired."

Mit'teem nodded and took on the lesson. "I have to hand it to you," Mit'teem said. "You have better endurance than I do."

"I've also been training since I was thirteen."

"You would run to the tops of hills before you would spar, right?"

"Yes," Dramin said with raised eye brows.

"Pre-exhaustion," Mit'teem said.

"Exactly," Dramin said. "Do you have experience with a sword?" He asked. Mit'teem paused. Another question he had to be careful about. He cocked his head slightly and hissed through his teeth.

"I have some training," he said.

"Single or double blade?" Dramin asked.

"Mostly single but some double," he said remembering that he was familiar with six forms of lightsaber combat, but he was especially good with Forms Three and Five. Dramin turned and walked to the wall where wooden practice swords referred to as "bokken" were mounted. He drew one off in each hand, "Okay," Dramin said as he raised his arm to Mit'teem, offering him the wooden sword. "Now let's see how you are with a blade."

 _Damn it_ , Mit'teem thought as he saw the sword being offered to him in Dramin's outstretched hand. He hesitated a moment before he reached out and carefully took the practice weapon from Dramin's grip. It was heavier than it looked. He stood unexpectedly awestruck. It was the first time he had held a weapon of any kind since that fateful day in the Jedi Council when he had surrendered his lightsaber. He felt its weight as he wobbled it back-and-forth measuring its center of gravity and pivot point. He instantly came to know the weapon. He carefully ran the underside of his hand down the back of its wooden blade.

Mit'teem did not even realize, but even with this wooden practiced weapon, he had just become the most dangerous person in a kilometer.

Mit'teem shifted his eyes from the end of the curved weapon to Dramin to find his golden eyes interrogating his reaction. He needed to be careful. Mit'teem smiled as he ran his fingers down the weapon.

"This is really nice," he said in an attempt to undo anything Dramin may have sensed.

"Are you ready?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem was really stuck. The only sword fighting he knew was the six forms of lightsaber combat. He thought quickly as he turned around and wobbled the weapon in his hand and worked around the pad. He concluded that Form One would likely be basic enough to give Dramin the upper hand and be unrecognizable. He turned around and met Dramin's gaze with a smile.

"Go easy on me, okay?" Mit'teem said.

They began with blades overlapping before Dramin curved the weapon to Mit'teem's left, throwing the first strike. Mit'teem blocked it with ease. Dramin advance to a two-blow strike; and Mit'teem was able to deflect them both in a fluid motion.

"Good," Dramin said. They returned to a crossed blade ready stance. Dramin threw a faster three-strike combination, and his third bow struck Mit'teem in the left side. Dramin left the follow through against Mit'teem's back muscle. "You can't let that happen," he said. Mit'teem looked down at the wooden weapon pushing in against his lat. "You're dead," Dramin said. Mit'teem knew this but he was keeping the act up. Dramin pulled the weapon away, and they formed up again. Dramin ran his blade down Mit'teem's pushing it to his Mit'teem's right and pivoted off it and slammed Mit'teem in the right side of his neck. Mit'teem squinted his eyes at the impact and walked away from the blow. He looked back at Dramin.

"Mentor me in your techniques," he said briefly. Then he resculpted he thought. "Don't force your techniques on your student. Lead, guide, and mentor," he said as he brought his weapon back up.

Dramin hit Mit'teem in the thigh with the wooden sword hard. Mit'teem hopped slightly as he walked off the impact.

"You just have to push it, don't you?" Mit'teem said. Dramin smiled and pointed the blade at him.

"You don't grow in your comfort zone."

Alright, Mit'teem thought as the pain radiated through his leg. Shaking the blade, he walked in an arc as he shifted strategies. Form One was not working for him. He had followed the basic form as close as he could, but Dramin kept defeating it. After all, Form One was the very first thing younglings learned. It wasn't really for combat.

He came around to face Dramin again. This time he took a defensive form of Form Three with his left hip bladed toward Dramin and his left arm angled up defending his head with his right arm cocked behind his torso holding the sword angled down behind him.

Dramin shot forward, and Mit'teem brought the wooden blade around blocking to his left. As he's he carried the momentum to spin around and throw a back kick to Dramin's stomach. Dramin staggered backward and raised his eyebrows.

"That was a good move," he said. "Let's see what else you've got," Dramin said as he advanced again. Mit'teem blocked and deflected the blows with a spin. Dramin quickly surveyed Mit'teem's stance. Mit'teem stood slightly crouched with his weight low, left leg cocked forward and his right was back balancing him. His left hand and arm were up guarding his head, palm in and with fingers relaxed as if ready to catch and redirect a blow. His right arm was rated behind him in line with his trailing leg, and his bokken was cocked and ready in an underhand 'teem had done this before.

Dramin stepped forward slashing to Mit'teem's left setting him up to strike across Mit'teem's right. As both of their blades clashed, and the wood cracked against each other, he turned to execute his strike. However, what he found instead was in elbow under his chin driving his head up and back, and then he felt the staff impact of the bokken driving into his solar plexus. Mit'teem I just landed a lethal strike to him, and he did not even see it coming!

As Dramin took single step back, absorbing the blow, his vision returned just soon enough to see Mit'teem bring the wooden weapon across his chest from his right collarbone to his left hip. That was a second lethal blow! He watched Mit'teem execute a fluid roll over his right shoulder in the direction of the blade's follow-through opening up their stance by two meters. Mit'teem effortlessly rolled over his right shoulder, across his back and up onto his feet taking a defensive posture perfectly squared off with Dramin. Mit'teem brought his grip down in front of him in line with his hips, both hands on the hilt of the blade angled toward him.

Dramin quickly examined his stance. Mit'teem's arms were extended down and ahead of him, nearly perfectly between the two of them, his shoulders were pulled back, and his lat flared between his arms and sides as both arms were driven down to his sides.

"You've been holding out," he said. Mit'teem was a lot more experienced at swordplay than he let on, Dramin concluded.

Mit'teem watched Dramin jump toward him. Mit'teem's perception sped up as he got in the zone and began reading Dramin's body language rapidly. Dramin began an approach with his blade down into Mit'teem's right side. With a turn of his wrist, he spun his blade behind him in a defensive move of Form Three and drove the blade down and across his torso from his right shoulder to his left hip deflecting Dramin's strike. He used the blade's momentum to swing up across his left side and drive the blade down and into Dramin's upper back between his shoulder and the base of his neck. This would have cleaved Dramin in half.

Another kill shot.

Mit'teem drew into Forms Two and Five as he began with a back and spin of the blade and brought his elbow up paralleled and in line with his face, then drove the blade back down and along his right side deflecting a strike. Stopping the momentum of Dramin's blade, Mit'teem pivoted around the blade and swung it as he turned. Dramin shifted his stance quickly to deflect the blow and felt a slap against the head with Mit'teem's free hand.

In his mind, Mit'teem heard the hum and whirr of lightsaber blades as both men's wooden blades swung between them. This was the first time Mit'teem had gotten into the zone of bladed combat since Geonocia, and he was getting a little carried away.

Now that they were too close to use the sword at its length, Dramin used a reversed grip as if ithe bladet were a knife, and attempted to throw a slash. Instead, he felt Mit'teem grabbed his wrist and throw a knee into the outside of his upper leg. The below opened up both of their stances wide enough for them to reassess the situation, but as soon as Dramin could see, Mit'teem was closing the gap. The way Mit'teem swung the blade was almost familiar, but it was nothing he had seen in his training. Mit'teem dipped and the sword down and across his legs, and with a flip of his wrist, he brought the blade back up defending the left side of his body. He spun and tipped the blade down toward the ground across his right side and then with the flip of the wrist brought the blade back up and drove it down his center forcing Dramin to block with his reversed blade.

Using his blocking momentum, Dramin squatted and spun to sweep Mit'teems legs but only swept the mat. As he came around, Mit'teem came down and struck him in the face quickly followed by a body shot nearly knocking him off balance.

Every shot Mit'teem had thrown had been a kill shot. Dramin quickly counted them up and realized that of these twenty-one attacks Mit'teem had thrown, seven of had connected and would have either disabled or killed him, and they had all been designed. Dramin watched Mit'teem lower his attack stance and examined him with a critical eye.

"You're good." He paused examining Mit'teem for a long moment. "Like really good."

 _Like too good_ , he almost said. Mit'teem smiled and looked to the ground.

"Thanks." After a second, Mit'teem flashed his eyes back up at Dramin and again looked to the mat as he turned and mumbled something to himself.

"En'cha chai-oon," Mit'teem said quietly to himself in his native language as he stepped away from Dramin. He had shown his hand. He risked being recognized. He should not have done that! Of course he could best Dramin in a sword fight. Short of the Force, that's what the Jedi were all about in combat.

He had let his pride flare, and it got the best of him.

Dramin listened closely but could not really hear what Mit'teem was saying. He shifted his eyes to the mirror to see Mit'teem's reflection perhaps being able to read his face. Whatever Mit'teem was saying, it appeared that he was chiding himself.

"En'cha chai-oon," Dramin heard Mit'teem forcefully say.

"I must be off my game," Dramin said. "You just landed at seven kill shots on me in less than have a minute. How are you so good?" he asked.

"It's just a different style of swordsmanship," Mit'teem said. "And I used to practice a lot."

Dramin examined Mit'teem. "Well," Dramin said suspiciously, "whatever style it is I want to learn it."

Mit'teem smiled and diverted his eyes to the ground as he shook his head slightly.

"Remember, don't force your lessons on your student. Lead, guide, and mentor them," Mit'teem said, "because if you don't, at the least you will make an enemy," he looked back up, "and at worst you will lose their respect." Mit'teem smiled. Dramin noticed a deep confidence as Mit'teem spoke. "Lack of respect leads to underestimation," he continued and then brought the weapon up and tapped the its blade against Dramin's neck. "Underestimation can be lethal."

Dramin felt the competition ebb and more of a kinship form as Mit'teem mentored him. Mit'teem replaced his bokken on the wall. Dramin heard him say something about going to change, but he sank into thought.

It was another thing Krismo had taught him back on Corzite. Competition is good. Rivalry is good. Don't, however let it corrupt. Don't let it cause conflict where none is necessary.

He straightened the legs of his compression shorts down around his thighs as he thought.

"Interesting," he mumbled to himself as he considered the concept and attempted the moves Mit'teem had made on him.

The human wore a shirt with "STAFF" written across its face and back. He wiped the glass of the dojo clean and walked to the glass wall of the dojo. As he sprayed the cleaning solution on the glass pane, he saw a purple male practicing a sword style inside. He recognized the lean body type, purple skin and hair, and the golden eyes. He recognized the body type from records of the Galactic Olympic competitions from over a decade past.

"No way," he said.

As Dramin replaced the wooden sword in its place, he heard a knock on the glass door. He turned to see a young man wearing a STAFF shirt push the door open.

"Hello," Dramin said, "we're done in here."

"Thank you," the young man said. "May I ask you a question?" he said leaning in the door way.

"How may I help you?" Dramin asked. The young man hesitated. The light flashed off Dramin's eyes as he looked at the staff member.

"Are you a Kage?" he asked. Dramin smiled.

"I didn't know so many people knew about us," he said as he arranged the bokken. He turned and approached the staff member in the doorway.

"I know your people from holovids. I am a History major. I've been watching the Galactic Olympics lately," he said. Dramin nodded his head in recognition.

"Ah, I see," he said as he extended his hand and shook the other man's. "My name is Dramin," he said. The staff member smiled widely and shook Dramin's purple hand.

"My name is Bri'ardy," he said. "Are you preparing for the games?" he asked as they released hands. Dramin shook his head in the negative.

"No. We have not participated in years," Dramin said.

"That's a shame," Bri'ardy said. "You seem to have the skill. Sword fighting isn't easy."

Dramin flicked his eye brows.

"You should see my friend. He's surprisingly good."

"Is he a Kage, too?" Bri'ardy asked.

"No," he said, "I think he's Pantoran."

The door opened, and Bri'ardy turned. He gasped as he saw the blue-skinned male approaching. He immediately recognized the deep blue skin and red eyes of the species.

"Sch'i-uun ," he whispered unconsciously under his breath. Horror and fascinating shot through his body with a bolt of adrenaline. Where the primal part of a prey's awareness resided, Bri'ardy instantly scanned the blue man for a threat. Shorter than Bri'ardy, he had long hair that was slicked back over his head stylishly. He wore a short sleeved shirt with "Finish It" printed across its front in Galactic Basic, and he carried a back pack over his right shoulder. He was clearly athletically muscular, and his stance was not one of a predator hunting prey but instead he was casually walking up to them both with a warm half smile across his lean, angular face. The blue man held an intimidatingly confident lock on Bri'ardy's eyes as he approached, and he extended his hand.

"You are a Sch'i-uun," Bri'ardy said. Mit'teem flicked a surprised eyebrow and narrowed his eyes.

"De'cha Chi'oon'a?" Mit'teem asked in the deliberate and sharp tones of a foreign language. Bri'ardy looked quizzically at him. "Un'chui Sy Bisti?" Mit'teem asked in Sy Bisti. Dramin shot him a surprised look.

"Gu'i" Bri'ardy confirmed in a low voice. Mit'teem leaned his head back and narrowed his eyes.

"I see," Mit'teem said in the Wild Space language. Bri'ardy poked Mit'teem in the chest with his index finger.

"You're real," Bri'ardy whispered unconsciously in Sy Bisti.

"Of course I'm real." Mit'teem said. Bri'ardy shook his head and blinked.

"I'm sorry, I mean I didn't realize the Sch'i-uun were real."

Mit'teem slapped Dramin in the chest.

"Well, like this guy, I'm one of a kind here," Mit'teem said in Basic.

With a flick of his eyes, Mit'teem made a rapid analysis of Bri'ardy. In the instant, he saw the man was a typical humanish human. He had dark brown hair, the sandy tan skin tone of Human species, brown eyes with white scleras, a lean build, and interesting tattoos on his right arm. It was a landscape that trailed up and under his shirt sleeve and one that appeared to climb up over his color bone. Mit'teem spent another second examining the tattoo on his arm. He recognized the non-Basic text at the bottom of the mountain. He looked back to Bri'ardy's eyes. "As are you?" he asked in a questioning tone.

"Yes," Bri'ardy responded.

"May I see the rest of your tattoo?" he asked. Bri'ardy smiled and pulled his sleeve up above his shoulder. It was a landscape that began as a trail at the base of a plane that ran up a mountain. The transition of the mountain's base to subtle twin peaks began at the bottom of his shoulder and crawled up to its middle. Behind the unique mountain top was what appeared to be two moons, one yellow and one blue.

Mit'teem continued in near perfect accented Sy Bisti. "You're from the Unknown Regions, probably the border of Wild Space, you speak Sy Bisti, and you have Mount Conhu Hi'n'awa'ya tattooed on your arm." Mit'teem noted the points of two tattoos emerging on the crown of his head from under his hair line. "You're a Jefi, aren't you?" he asked. The young man smiled broadly and nodded emphatically.

"Gu'i," he responded in the rare language.

Mit'teem turned his head slightly to Dramin and pointed at the mountain on the young man's arm and continued in Basic.

"They say that if you ever go to his home world and don't climb that mountain, the mountain will inevitably call you back."

"That's right," Bri'ardy said with a greatly impressed look on his face. "Did you ever go there?"

"Indeed I did," he said with a quick flash of blaster fire, explosions, and the swinging of his lightsaber in his mind. "It was about three and a half years ago."

"Really?!" Briardy asked. "That was at the beginning of the war. What were you doing there?"

"I was there with the 224th." Mit'teem pointed at the tattoo again.

"We summitted it in the early morning and got to see the sunrise from the South. It was very impressive."

Bri'ardy furrowed his brow is he gave Mit'teem a deeply inquisitive look. "The 224th?" he asked. "You were in the Grand Army of the Republic?"

Mit'teem nodded his head. "Yes. The 224th was my unit for several years."

Bri'ardy smiled and nodded as he looked Mit'teem over.

"There are legends of your people."

"Oh?" Mit'teem asked.

"Clever. Cunning. Dangerous."

Dramin laughed once. "No kidding."

Bri'ardy examined Mit'teem's facial features. "It's not every day you meet a species you only hear legends about." Bri'ardy reached his hand out and shook Dramin's and then shifted to Mit'teem's. "Much less two," he said in a lowered voice.

Bri'ardy noticed that each of the men looked at him with both eyes. It was the look of a hunter, the look of a leader that his people sought out, and Bri'ardy had just found two of them at once. He was struck that while they were clearly meat eaters, warriors, they looked at him not as prey or inferior but instead as a person.

"Like I said, it's very very good to meet you both. My friends call me Bri'guy." he said as he wore a very large and honest smile across his face. "I have to get back to cleaning, but I hope that we can talk again soon." Bri'ardy waved once more as he left.

"Fascinating," Dramin said before he turned to Mit'teem. "You speak Sy Bisti," he said. Mit'teem smiled. "You're full of surprises today."

Mit'teem shot him a look with his red eyes.

"Never show your whole hand until you're ready," he said. Mit'teem said. He threw a gesture toward where Bri'ardy had just been. "I never thought I would see one of his people again much less here. Dramin furrowed his brow.

"Really?" he asked.

"Something about his people is that they are a race of followers. To my knowledge, they have never really produced leaders, but they are excellent soldiers. As long as you provide them positive confidence of command, you'll win their loyalty, and they will follow you off of a cliff."

"Did you really work with his people?" Dramin asked.

"Oh, yes. It was the 'Jefi Campaign'. We were on his world for about two months." Mit'teem paused for a moment. "But I am surprised that he's here."

"Why?" Dramin asked.

"His people are excellent artists, as you probably saw by the nature of his tattoo. Maybe I'm just wrong, but I didn't figure the Jefi as a Coruscant seeking people."

Dramin pondered the idea for a long moment. "Do you think their initiative is impacted by being a species of followers?"

"I would imagine so, and it seemed that way on the battlefield. For instance, if they were to have gone up against the clone army, they would not have stood a chance, however," Mit'teem said, "when they were led by the clones, they were nearly an unstoppable force."

"Fascinating," Dramin said. "Do they govern themselves, or do outsiders do that as well?" Mit'teem considered the idea.

"I don't know. I never asked about the internal affairs of their governing bodies. When we operated together, they were always attached to us as a garrison."

"Who would lead them?" Dramin asked.

"Typically it was a clone commander."

"I thought you said a leader had to earn his way into their graces," Dramin said. Mit'teem paused at the seeming contradiction.

"Well," Mit'teem said, "the clones are good. They're really good."

"They followed you?" Dramin asked as he looked down at the shorter Mit'teem.

"Yeah, they did," Mit'teem said unthinkingly. Dramin watched Mit'teem for a moment seeing Mit'teem didn't realize what he was getting at, again showing an unconscious humility.

"I can see why," he said flatly. Then Mit'teem got it. He shot Dramin a sharp look.

"Shut up, you ass wipe," he said in a tone shared by siblings.

They walked to the gym's beverage bar and both got blended, iced recovery drinks. As Mit'teem ordered his post-workout drink, his attention was drawn to the holovid on above the menu.

"Danger looms!" the announcer like voice boomed. "Despite recent victories in the Outer Rim, criminal minds plot at the very heart of the Republic! Criminals kidnap members of the Galactic Senate! What can be the aim of this despicable act?" Mit'teem rolled his eyes as he paid for the drink.

"Why don't you just send Anakin Skywalker to save the day?" he asked under his breath.

"Who's that?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem was surprised Dramin had heard his statement. He stirred the drink with its straw.

"Anakin _Skywalker_ ," he said in a derogatory tone. "He's a particular arrogant Jedi."

"Did you work with him?"

"A few times. I didn't _know_ him, but I more knew _of_ him," he said, not being careful about what he said. "I watched him from the side. His actions reinforced his reputation."

"You worked with them, the Jedi?"

"I did," Mit'teem said again carefully, "but I prefer the clones." They turned and left the gym. They stepped out into the night of Coruscant. Their dark complexions drawing them down, leaving only their eyes lighting their silhouettes.

"What is it you said earlier?" Dramin asked. "Lead, show, and what?" he asked.

"Lead, guide, and mentor," Mit'teem said and took a drink of his smoothie. "It's something my grappling instructor taught me." Dramin nodded as he understood. "And you said, 'you don't grow in your comfort zone'."

Dramin nodded and smiled. "Indeed I did."

"Truth," Mit'teem said.

"What did that guy call you?" Dramin asked.

"Sch'i-uun," Mit'teem said.

"I thought you were Pantoran," Dramin said.

"That's, fine," Mit'teem said casually. "Most people do."

Dramin looked to him as they walked.

"So, you're not?"

Mit'teem pulled a slight smile. "No." A moment passed, and he flicked the corner of his eye brow. "I like to think I'm far better looking."

Dramin laughed as he realized for as much he knew about his blue friend, he actually didn't know as much as he thought. He pulled a draw of his drink and examined Mit'teemt.

"So, what are you?" he asked with a mouth full. Dramin measured Mit'teem's body language and saw his eyes move subtly, his brain referencing his memory. Then Mit'teem smiled and dipped his head slightly.

"Schi'uun works just fine."

Dramin laughed to himself.

"You're weird, man," Dramin said.

"Oh, yeah?" Mit'teem asked, "you're the one with a tattoo on your face," he said.

Dramin laughed. "You have a great dichotomy," he said. "For as little as you speak, you say a lot, and every time you speak, I realize there is even more behind you."

Mit'teem raised his eyebrows.

 _Wow_ , Mit'teem thought. He motioned to Dramin with his drink as they walked side by side.

"Thank you. The feeling is mutual. You keep me on my toes," he said. "You're not just a Kage, but you're a Kage Warrior. There is a lot to be said about that."

Dramin nodded. "Thank you," he said. "The sparring, the grappling, the training, I really want to thank you for all of it. The fighting club is just exercise. You have given me the opportunity to sharpen my skills," he said. "Especially today."

"Iron sharpens iron," Mit'teem said as they walked to the edge of the steelcrete ledge. He sat on it and hung his legs off the edge. Dramin did the same.

"So, you said you worked with the Jedi Skywalker," he said. Mit'teem cracked a smile and laughed at the comment.

"If you want to call him that," he said. "I was good friends with his protégé," he said as he remembered training with Ahsoka Tano under the tutelage of Master Plo Koon. When she moved to Anakin, and he remained with Master Plo. While he kept in touch and watched her from afar, something about Skywalker never really rang right with him. Once he began to hear the rumors, Mit'teem became more and more convinced that Skywalker was not all he was cracked up to be.

"What is his name?" Dramin asked.

"Anakin," Mit'teem responded. "Anakin _Skywalker_." Mit'teem spoke Anakin's last name with a tone of disapproval.

"You don't like him," Dramin noted. Mit'teem shook his head slightly.

"No. The guy is a real turd."

"You know the Jedi that well?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem shrugged his shoulders.

"I thought I did," he said under his breath. "The Jedi are supposed to be these indomitable moral people." He glanced at Dramin. "The ultimate role models," he said making a quotation sign with his free hand. He stirred his drink as he looked down off the ledge. "It turns out that they are like everyone else. Some are good. Some are not."

Dramin nodded, and the two non-humans both looked out at the beautiful night cityscape of Coruscant.

"The training is good," Dramin said returning to the last topic. "It helps clear my mind. It reminds me that I need to expand." He sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again with a sign. "I need an adrenaline rush." Mit'teem thought about it quickly. With the Jefi campaign fresh in his mind, he smiled.

"I have something for you," he said with a wry smile. "But you might have to spend a little money. You'll have to train for it, which means leaving campus. You willing to do that?"

Dramin smiled and nodded. "I dare you," he said.

Mit'teem pulled a large smile baring his sharp canine teeth and punched his index finger into Dramin's shoulder.

"Okay," he said, "remember, you asked for it."


	9. Plo Koon Recruits - Part 1

Plo Koon Recruits - Part: 1

"There is always some truth in Legends"

Seven years before the Galactic Clone War began, the Captain sat in the command chair slightly uneasy. He looked out the bridge's main screen at the swirling conduit of hyperspace as his ship. He was in command of the diplomatic cruiser _Radiant XI,_ a Consular-class cruiser of the Galactic Republic. He and his crew ferried Senators and diplomats from world to world in, typically, uneventful missions. This trip, however was unconventional, and how they were going about it was concerning. They were flying - at speed - into the Unknown Regions of the galaxy.  
Navigating starships could be a complicated thing. Landing in a relatively undeveloped world where there was not a lot of areal or orbital traffic was easy. Negotiating the crowded ascent and descent lanes of a planet like Coruscant was only for the experienced pilot. Interstellar navigation was an art form of its own, but it was not as difficult as people made it. Typically one would follow traffic separation schemes, fly inside hyperspace lanes, and follow the "rules of lanes". While dangerous, every once in a while it was advantageous to fly outside the lanes, but that danger was mitigated by a navigator's eye, a little skill, and touch of finesse.  
What they were doing today was different. Flying outside of hyperspace lanes was one thing, but flying into the Unknown Regions at multiples the speed of light was radically dangerous. Hyperspace lanes had not been established in this region of space, because it was just plain strange. With Wild Space, you at least knew what you were getting into, but the Unknown Regions were just that, unknown. If _all of that_ was not enough, they were doing it _without_ the aid of a navi-computer or astromech. Instead, a Jedi sat at his helm working the controls with some kind of Jedi magic. As far as the Captain could tell, she was literally 'winging it' through hyperspace with his ship.  
Then there was the tactical problem. Being a diplomatic ship, the _Radiant XI_ was not well armed. Upon receipt of his mission orders, he convinced Fleet to embark two A-wing fighters aboard the _Radiant_ in the case they ran into something more than the ship's two turbo laser batteries could handle. Fleet had approved, and two fighters of the 334th Self-Defense Force were attached to the underside _Radiant_ 's hull on her two ventral docking ports. They almost looked like feeder fish attached to a shark. At least with that, the Captain figured he and his crew had a chance to fight their way back to Known Space. He and his crew had already laid out known safe havens in the outer rim if they needed to escape somewhere quickly.  
He let out an unconscious sigh as he checked everything in his mind for the countless time. His eyes drew over the female Twi'lek sitting behind his navigational helm as she manipulated the controls manually. She was a Jedi. He had shuttled diplomats for years, but it was not often he transported Jedi. Typically, Jedi came off like prudes who wore a smile. They never really interacted with the crew or ship itself, but this pair was different. They were far more personable than other Jedi he had interacted with. The Twi'lek female named Tai'aana was very friendly, and the male Jedi, a Keldor named Plo Koon, was almost fatherly. He had talked with the Master Jedi, and while other Jedi he had interacted with were typically cold and detached, Master Jedi Plo Koon was warm and very willing to spend time explaining what he could. This Jedi gave him more confidence, what some refer to a "warm-and-fuzzy", than he expected, and that's what he and his crew needed on this mission.

Jedi Master Plo Koon sat the left side of his fellow Jedi, and former Padawan, reading a book to pass the time. They had been in hyperspace for seventeen hours, the last three of which the _Radiant_ had been beyond established hyperspace lanes. Now, sitting deep in the Force, his fellow Jedi operated the ship's helm with her eyes closed and fingers on the controls. Navigating like this took a lot of attention and focus. Through a method referred to as Battle Meditation, the Jedi Master fed his own Force strength into his former apprentice to reduce her fatigue.  
He could feel the Captain's apprehension at this method of navigation. The Jedi Master could not blame him, the Unknown Regions were radically dangerous. Gravitational masses would appear and disappear suddenly and without warning. These anomalies historically precluded the safe use of navigational equipment at faster-than-light speed or the establishment of reliable Hyperspace lanes. The use of Force Premonition, on the other hand, was one of the only means by which the random dangers could be foreseen and avoided. Tai'aana wore a set of blacked out goggles over her eyes helping her keep her mind clear and focused. While Plo Koon fed his strength into her, he acted as a backup and reached out with the Force on his own to sense what was to come.  
A powerful Jedi and sitting member of the Jedi Council, he had an uncommon sensitivity to other Force sensitives. Over the past two months, he had sensed the presence of several unfamiliar Force Sensitives in the deep space of the Unknown Regions, twinkling like tiny stars in the distant night sky. He had convinced the Jedi Council to release him and an old padawan to explore this anomaly. A Nubian diplomatic delegation had been assigned to the expedition in the case first contact with an unknown species would arise.  
Master Plo ran his finger down the edge of the page feeling its texture with the underside of his index finger. It was not often that anyone found a book made of mulched wood any more, but he appreciated it. As interestingly written as it was to him, it was likely as boring to others as a technical manual written by a computer. He closed the book of old Jedi philosophy and slid it into the netted pouch hanging from his seat.  
"There is a star within fifteen seconds," Tai'aana said as her fingers ran over the navigational controls. "New course...three-one-seven mark two-seven-five," she said as she executed the course correction. The ship shifted course and avoided the obstacle.  
"We are approaching the system," she said. "Reaching objective in ten," she said as she counted down, "six, five, coordinates transferred to the computer," she said giving the computer command of the propulsion.  
"Standby," the Keldor said.  
The swirling hyperspace tube flashed into streaking stars and then settled into the pricks of white and blue light amongst the inky black darkness of deep space. The varying shades of grey and blue paint scheme of the _Radiant XI_ appeared nearly invisible against the blackness of space.  
Tai'aana stood and stepped away from the console and rubbed her eyes.  
"It is a taxing effort." Plo Koon said. "You have done well." He watched her as she rested for a moment. "It is an accomplishment to achieve what you have. The skill of premonition is hard earned."  
The Jedi blinked several times and looked to the view screen to find an empty star field. She looked out the bridge windows and saw nothing but the blackness of space. She had expected to see a ship, space station or even a planet, but there was nothing. She furrowed her brow.  
"I could have sworn," she said stopping herself, "these are correct coordinates, are they not, Master?" she asked. The Keldor tapped a few controls and looked out the bridge windows into the darkness of space.  
"Indeed they are." Plo Koon reached out with the Force and felt the presence of the Force Sensitives, but he could not get a positive direction. "They are here," he said.  
"Where are they?" she asked.  
"There are only a few possibilities," he said. "I believe the next leg in our course will require my meditation."

The command bridge of the _Concordance_ was dark and cool. There were few noises other than quiet reports being made by the bridge crew and subtle beeps from the navigational equipment.  
The commander of the ship sat in the command chair, slightly elevated above the rest of the stations. He peered at the view screen at the center, forward bulkhead of the ship's bridge. It displayed an overlay of the _Radiant_ 's surface in an orange grid.  
"The ship is approaching, again, sir," the sensor officer said from his station in their native language.  
"Is our cloak intact?" the Commander asked.  
"It is, sir."  
"Move us five kilometers on a heading of two-seven-zero and hold position there." The helmsman typed a command into the ship's helm with a fluid ease. The target ship shrunk as they moved off. The man in command let out a slight sigh as he considered the variables to the situation. His people's cloaking technology was so far unmatched in the galaxy. He raised his eye brow.  
 _So far,_ he thought. His first officer, second in command, sitting down and to his right, looked at him with interest.  
"We will let them approach," the commander said.  
"Do you believe they can detect us, Commander?" his first asked.  
"Their actions suggest it, First," he said, "but we will see. Stand by deflector shields if they risk collision."

Plo Koon immersed himself in the Force. He visualized himself sitting chest deep in a pool of inky, black water. As he looked around the black abyss, tiny, luminescent waves moved outward from him like ripples in water. He was using this place in the Force to reach out and detect the ripples of other Force sensitive. He felt Tai'aana beside him, but he did his best to block her out, clarifying his view. He still felt the being he had all those months earlier on Coruscant, but now it was sharper, more defined. Plo Koon examined the feeling. It was different; it was obscured. It was as if something was distorting the being's signature.  
As he sat in this place in the Force, the inky black abyss, he had an idea. He raised his right hand out of the pool and gathered the Force between his fingers. With a twinkle of light from between his middle finger and thumb, he snapped his fingers, and the twinkle flashed into an expanding disk of light. He felt it wash over him as it expanded at the speed of the Force.  
Aboard the _Concordance_ , a young male sat in the navigator seat tuning his instruments when he gasped loudly. He felt a cool, friendly pulse wash over him. It was something he had only felt in those like him but never so strong, so confident, so…mature? He looked to the view screen. It had come from that ship.  
The Commander turned his attention to the boy.  
"Navigator, what is it?" he asked. The boy pointed to the ship on the screen.  
"There is someone like me on that ship, Commander," the boy said. "I can feel his presence." The commander shifted his focused back to the ship on the display.  
Suddenly, off to his right, Plo Koon saw the momentary illumination of another being.  
"It is he," he said in the abyss.  
Sitting in his chair, his black metallic mask obscured most of his facial expressions. One would not be able to tell that the Jedi Master's consciousness was somewhere else. "Captain, please maneuver the ship to a heading of, two-seven-zero. Range four-thousand meters," he said. The Captain nodded at the helmsman.  
The Commander watched the view screen as the craft approached them again. The three-engined vessel approached and slowed its approach to a crawl and then stopped. He observed its blue and light grey markings. The design of the ship was utilitarian and stylized. He examined how the head of the ship was broken into a cylinder topped by a wide dorsal structure that reached back to its secondary section. It's last third was triangularly shaped with three engines on its rear edge. He examined the contrasts in the overall shades of the blues used on its topside surface. While clearly utilitarian and worn with age and weathering, the contrast offered a of beauty.  
Artistic observations aside, he wondered if there was indeed an imperfection in the ship's cloak that allowed the Republic sensors to detect them. He thought they had stayed well outside of any sensor ranges or nets when they deployed their listening buoys. Even if so, there was no way they should have been able to track the _Concordance_ all the way back here. There must have been an error in the ship's cloak, perhaps an anomaly in the engines leaving an ionizing trail behind them.  
This was posing a tactical problem.

Plo Koon looked out the bridge windows into empty space.  
"You detect no ship," he said. The Nubian sensor officer scanned the areas again and shook his head in the negative.  
"No, sir."  
"Then either your sensors are malfunctioning," he said, "or there is a cloaked ship out there."  
"Are you sure, Master?" Tai'aana asked.  
"Can you not feel it?" he asked. A moment passed. "Five hundred meters ahead of us is who we came here to find."  
The Captain interjected. "Are you saying here is a ship we can't detect out there, Master Jedi?"  
"Indeed there is," Plo Koon said.  
This was getting stranger and stranger, the Captain thought. He looked to his tactical officer and motioned for him to approach. The tactical officer leaned in.  
"Get the pilots of the A-wings and send power to the turbolasers," he said. The tactical officer nodded and returned to his station, rapidly tapping commands into his console. If anything was going to happen, the Captain was going to be as ready as possible.

The boy stood next to his console peering at the ship on the screen with a keen interest. The Commander watched the boy closely.  
"Can you tell where he is on the ship?" he asked. The boy nodded.  
"Yes, sir," he said. The Commander tapped a command into the arm of his chair activating an orange, three-dimensional projection of the ship between his command chair and the view screen. He stood and motioned for the boy to approach the projection. The boy did. "Show me." As the boy approached it three dimensional depiction, he examined it. He looked closely the cylindrical bow of the ship and pointed midway down the forward part of the cylinder. The boy looked back up to his Commander.  
"He is right there," the boy said with certainty. The boy looked back at the holo projection. "I think there is another one with him."  
The Commander watched the boy stare at the display with the curious look of a furrowed brow and slightly cocked head.  
"Is there something else?" he asked.  
"They feel strange." The boy looked back up to the Commander. "They feel…mature, very powerful."  
The Commander looked back to the projection and then back to the ship on the view screen.  
"Return to your station and watch from the side," he said. The boy immediately obeyed and the Commander returned to his command chair and sat.  
"Hail them."

"Captain, I don't know where it's coming from," the communications officer said, "but a communications signal is incoming."  
This was getting stranger and stranger, the Captain thought to himself again.  
"Open the channel," the Captain said. The view screen was filled with a darkened room with a great deal of detailed consoles and steady lights with dark figures working behind them. It was almost as if there was a mask or visual filter obscuring each of the beings. An image of a dark command center with a darkly clad man sitting in what appeared to be a position of authority appeared on the screen. The man's features were not readily apparent on the communications screen. The man spoke in a language the Jedi Master did not recognize. Plo Koon turned slightly to his former Padawan. She shook her head.  
"I don't know."  
"I thought you were familiar in exotic languages of this part of space."  
"I am, Master, but I don't recognize it," she said.  
"Two, J0?" he asked the protocol droid to his left. The silver droid cocked his head in a human-like manner.  
"I am fluent in over six million kinds of communications. I do not recognize it."

The man on the screen spoke again.  
"Basic," he said. They all looked to the screen. "You speak Galactic Basic, do you not?" he asked in a heavy accent.  
"Yes, we do," Plo Koon responded.  
"What are you doing in this part of space?"  
"We are representatives of the Galactic Republic here on a diplomatic mission." A moment passed before the Captain broke the silence. "We have a full diplomatic delegation aboard, and we would," he said before he was cut off.  
"How did you detect my ship?" the man on the screen asked, straight to the point. Plo Koon stepped onto view.  
"You have a member of your crew who is strong in the Force. We were able to detect his presence. That is how we were able to track your movements," The Jedi Master said.  
"What sensors aboard your ship could do this?" he asked in slightly broken Basic. The Jedi Master put his clawed hand to his chest.  
"I detected him," he said flatly.

The Commander sat in the command chair rapidly pouring through possibilities.  
"We wish to speak to this person," the orange man wearing the dark, metallic mask said. He looked to his navigator, and the boy nodded. This was the man his navigator had detected. His navigator said this man was "like him". That was remarkably strange. After quickly considering it, the Commander made his decision.  
"Drop the cloak," he said in their native language.

"Captain, I'm picking up a strong increase in tachyon radiation," he said quickly as the sensor console began beeping alarms.  
The communications picture shimmered and disconnected flashing back to the star field beyond the ship. The still stars shifted into a prismed rainbow as something began to happen. A large, dark ship phased into view only one hundred meters from the Consular-class corvette. The Captain of the _Radiant_ nearly jumped out of his chair.  
"Shields up, crew to battle stations, prepare to launch the A-wings!" he said rapidly. "Helm, back us off, back us off!"

Plo Koon turned to him with an outstretched hand.  
" _Captain_ ," Plo Koon said with emphasis, "please belay that," the Jedi Master said as the image of the ship settled into view. If they wanted to destroy us, I suspect they would have done it long ago."

The now de-cloaked ship was significantly larger than the _Radiant XI_. Its lines were sleek, sections of the hull cutting in and sweeping at nearly perfect curves. The hull's surface was adorned with shaded panels swept in geometric directions. The ship's horizontal surface was broken by three concentric decks of windows and what appeared to be navigational running lights at its tips. The subtleties of the graded dark gray patterned accent were almost...artistic.

After the Captain belayed his order upon the request of Master Plo Koon, the man's voice spoke, now in audio only, against the image of the large alien ship.  
"If you could detect my ship," hisvoice said in careful articulation. "I wish to speak to you. We will send you docking coordinates in Galactic Basic." As soon as the transmission ended, the Captain took a breath.  
"Master Jedi, I am very flexible," he said, "but this is pushing it." Plo Koon turned to him.  
"I appreciate your trust, Captain, and I understand this is your ship, and you are charged with the safety of your crew. The execution of your order would have been an unnecessary escalation of force. I thank you, however for issuing it. The gesture made it clear your willingness to bring the ship to battle." The Captain kept his gaze with the Jedi Master.  
"Sensors, what have you found out about that ship?" he asked. The sensor officer slowly lifted his hands away from the sensor controls and looked toward the bridge's view screen.  
"Captain, that ship is made out of something I've never seen before," he said.  
"Tactical analysis," the Captain said, still holding his gaze with the Jedi. The tactical officer continued to examine the readings.  
"Sir, not only can they cloak, but I count at least six torpedo launchers, all of which are loaded with what appear to be anti-matter weapons, a lot of high energy particle weapons, and their inner hull appears to be very thick like some sort of armor."  
The Captain flicked his eyebrows. "Well, Master Jedi, it seems we just poked a warship." The Master Jedi let out a long sigh.  
"Indeed it does," Plo Koon said.

The two ships stood nearly nose to nose. The unknown ship was beautiful in its dark yet simplistic pattern. The cylindrical shuttle detached from the side of the _Radiant XI_ and slid out of its starboard port. As it moved away from the _Radiant_ , the alien ship came into view of the side windows. The diplomatic crew gathered at the view ports and looked at the dark ship dotted with rows of white and blue windows.  
The vantage point offered a more revealing view of the alien ship. It was significantly larger than they had originally thought. The side of the hull was angled up to its top and inward to its underside in a tumblehome design. About two-thirds down its length towered a large superstructure over its topside surface. The blue and white windows that ran in segments down its entire port side were interrupted only by a large, mouth-like vented intake of some kind. As the shuttle moved down the length of the ship, the light flashed across the different finishes of grey and black panels.  
"It's beautiful," a woman in the delegation said as she peered out the window.  
"It looks like a warship," another of them observed. Plo Koon watched from behind them as they moved into the unknown.

The Commander of the _Concordance_ stood at the airlock with his four guards and awaited the shuttle to dock. His team had already scanned the shuttle for threats, and there was none. It slowly closed and finally docked with a quiet, metallic boom.  
The Jedi Master watched the docking indicator shift from red to green. The docking ring rotated and unlocked. The door slid open to reveal a massive, closed gun metal grey iris. With a deep boom and metallic clank, the iris opened revealing the aliens.  
A cloud of white mist whipped through the opening door to reveal five men standing in very low light. The one in the front was a tall humanoid male clad in a black uniform. His arms were clasped behind the small of his back. A pair of gold stripes poured over his shoulders to his armpits, likely signifying rank. Plo Koon saw he was flanked by four other men, two to each side, presumably security guards. Their uniforms appeared to be a similar semi-stylized cloth that allowed for a great range of movement. Was this possibly to allow for hand to hand combat? Was this a race of warriors? As the white mist finally dissipated, the Jedi Master's eyes drew up to see the man's face.

He had jet black hair, dark blue skin, and in the low light, his eyes seemed to glow…a brilliant crimson red.


	10. Plo Koon Recruits - Part 2

Plo Koon Recruits – Part: 2

The five darkly clad men were arranged in a wedge formation with the man in front clearly the one in charge. They were humanoid quadrupeds. Their blue faces were lean, angular and showed not a trace of fat or misplaced feature. The Jedi Master could tell through their uniforms that they were all had corresponding athletic builds. The man in the center was not as tall as two behind him, but his skin was smooth, his red eyes were flat across the top and swept below angling down and inward. His jaw was square, and like them all, he had a direct and very aware gaze.

Master Plo Koon had seen species with reflective eyes before, but as he surveyed the five men, it was clear that a unique feature of this species was that their red eyes had what appeared to be a slight bioluminescence. The lead man's arms were clasped behind his back, and he looked forward with an intensity Plo Koon had not seen in some time.

"My name is Plo Koon, and this is Tai'aana," he said with a slight wave of his hand. "We come in peace." A moment passed as the man's red eyes scanned Plo Koon and Tai'aana.

"I am Syndic 'Ras. I am in command of this vessel." He shifted his red eyes to the chromed droid.

"We are diplomatic representatives of the Galactic Republic."

"What is this?" the Syndic asked.

"This is a translation droid assigned to this diplomatic mission." As Plo Koon spoke, the man's red eyes continued to examine the C3J0.

"Translation droid," he said and then looked back to Plo Koon. "What…is a translation droid?" he articulated carefully.

"A 'droid' is an interactive machine we program to perform certain functions. This one serves as a translator."

'Ras studied the chromium droid more. "It did not understand my initial inquiry," he said. "It does not appear to be serving you well."

"How rude!" J0 said. 'Ras shifted his eyes back to the chromium droid's lit eyes, surprised by the droid's reaction.

"Are you controlling its actions?" he asked.

"No, it is acting on its own fruition," Plo Koon said. The Syndic examined the droid's expressionless face.

"Do you understand me?"he asked. The droid shifted its head back and forth quizzically.

"Yes," J0 finally said.

"Are you sentient?" the blue Commander asked.

"Yes," the droid said after a moment. 'Ras shifted his eyes back to Plo Koon.

"Are you its master?" he asked. Plo Koon paused as he wondered how to answer.

"Technically, yes," he said. An unexpected moment passed between them as the Syndic reached a barbed conclusion.

"Let us hope the meaning is lost in translation."

"Perhaps we could exchange languages," Plo Koon suggested with a palm up, outstretched hand.

"Unlikely," 'Ras said. The ambassador stepped up from behind the Jedi Master. The Syndic shifted his gaze sharply to him.

"I am Ambassador Undooly," he said. The alien quickly scanned the man. "We are delegates from the Galactic Republic," he said. The alien stood motionless, staring at the Ambassador with his red eyes. After a moment, he made a motion, and the two guards on his right side opened the way to a corridor.

"Please come with us," one of them said in a heavy accent. They walked past the man who was clearly in charge as he looked deeply into the lenses of Plo Koon's mask. After the delegation left them, he spoke.

"How did you detect my ship?" he asked. Plo Koon realized the blue skinned aliens were interested in one thing, and they did not take his word from earlier.

"As I said, I did," he said with a hand across his chest. The blue skinned commander interrogated his reactions.

"Explain how," he said deliberately and with careful articulation through is accent.

"There is an undercurrent in the universe. Some beings are sensitive to it. Some of those can influence it. We," he said with a wave to Tai'aana to his left, "are sensitive to it. We can also detect those who are also sensitive to it."

With every word the man spoke, the Syndic narrowed the meaning more and more until his suspicions were confirmed. Even through his ship's cloak, this stranger could detect his navigator as could his navigator detect this man. That was a fact, however he was not going to reveal just yet. Something was amiss, and he needed more information.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"We are Jedi investigating a signature in the Force. We believe you have a Force sensitive aboard your ship. We would like to meet this person."

"Jedi?" the Syndic asked, not seeming to have understood the term "the Force" but instead recognizing the term "Jedi". He seemed suddenly interested. "Of the Ancient Hyperspace War?" Plo Koon was surprised.

"Yes. You know it that war?"

"Indeed we do. There are only myths and legends of the duplicitous Jedi and Sith peoples. You are one of these?" he asked slowly and clearly.

"Indeed we are," Plo Koon responded. A long moment passed as the Syndic clearly ran through his memory. "If that is the case," he said, "is that a pen'eu'ehay?" he asked motioning to the lightsaber on Plo Koon's belt.

"We call it a lightsaber," he said as he cleared his hand away from the weapon on his belt, making it visible.

"It is said that the pen'eu'ehay," the Syndic stopped himself, "the _light-saber_ ," he articulated carefully, "is a blade of energy, an ultimate weapon that carries a spirit."

"That is an unconventional if not accurate means of describing it," Plo Koon said with a tip of his head. The Syndic examined its simple cylindrical body a moment longer before shifting his eyes back to Plo Koon's mask.

"What brings the _Jedi_ here?" the Syndic asked, baiting the Jedi to elaborate on his purpose.

"There is a being aboard your ship with special abilities," he said. "This person is strong in what we call the 'Force'. We, too are strong in the Force," Plo Koon said. The Syndic stood motionless reading the Keldor's movements, subtle body language, and tone of voice. In the way a Jedi could, Plo Koon reached out with the Force and felt the texture of the man's mind. It was smooth, calm, confident, and resolved.

"We are familiar with five senses," the Syndic said. He seemed to struggle with their names in Galactic Basic. "Tactile, taste, smell, sight, and audio," he said with articulation. "This sensitivity, is it an extra sensory perception?"

"Indeed it is," Plo Koon confirmed. His navigator had the gift of Third Sight, an ability to read what was to come, an ability observed and utilized but never explained. It was how his people were able to navigate the hazards of this part of space. The fact this man was describing something similar was fascinating.

"Is that how you navigated here?" he asked flatly.

"Indeed it is. The ability to use the Force gives us the ability to anticipate dangers. We were able to use this ability to avoid dangers on the hyperspace path."

What this Jedi was describing was remarkably similar to, if not the same, as the skills of his navigators. A very rare few of his peoples' youth had such an ability, an extra sense about them, that allowed them to detect what was to come. After education and practice in interstellar navigation, the youth were then employed in the Ozyly-esehembo corps. When commissioned as Ozyly-esehembo, they would deploy amongst the fleet and safely navigate their ships through hyperspace with their abilities to anticipate navigational hazards at speed. The unfortunate part was that it was a skill the gifted only retained during their youth. As they reached adolescence, the ability faded until it was no more.

Could this _adult_ have the same abilities as his peoples' gifted youth? Was the skill of navigation the same as the 'Force' the Jedi was referencing? He trusted his familiarity with Galactic Basic, but he needed to be sure.

"Can you further describe the 'Force'?" the Syndic asked.

"It is an energy field that surrounds us and permeates the galaxy."

"Is this field detectable with instruments?" he asked.

"No, not to my knowledge," the Jedi Master said.

"Then how is it detected?"

"We can detect other beings sensitive to the Force," Plo Koon reiterated.

"She has this gift as well?" he said with a glance of his red eyes to Tai'aana.

"Yes."

"You said you can detect dangers in hyperspace path?" the Syndic asked rhetorically.

"Indeed we can," Plo Koon conformed.

"Fascinating," Syndic confirmed in a flat whispered tone. "You have the gift." A long pause passed between the two. "We refer to the ability to navigate through extra sensory detection as the 'Third Sight'." The Jedi Master understood and drew the equivalency in his mind.

"This 'Third Sight' appears to be the same arm of the Force we refer to as 'precognition', or 'foresight'," Plo Koon explained, "but only one of them."

The Syndic brought his right hand up to his chin and touched it with his thumb and forefinger as he narrowed his eyes.

The Ambassador was pissed. His four person delegation sat at the table. He stood three meters away from the two guards who flanked the door. He looked over the one on the right. It was clearly a humanoid male, but like the others he had a deep blue skin and strange, red eyes, and shimmering black hair. Their eyes were red, but their irises were a brighter crimson, almost as if they were giving off light. They both stood there with their hands clasped behind the smalls of their backs. Their uniforms were a satin black with red strips going from their arm pits over their shoulders, and there were similar stripes on their collars.

"What do you mean I can't talk to the ship's commander?" he asked. The guard he addressed shifted his eyes to him, their crimson irises almost interrogating him.

"The Syndic is speaking with your representatives." The guard's accent broke the Galactic Basic into short, clipped words.

"I represent the Senate of the Galactic Republic," he said with his hand on his chest, "not the Jedi." Both men shifted their crimson eyes to the ambassador and examined him. That got their attention.

"Jedi?" the one ahead of him asked. The Ambassador stepped up to the guard.

"Look, I know the Jedi are special," he said before the blue alien somehow brought his hand up quickly and popped him in the chest powerfully. He staggered back three steps trying not to lose his balance. The guard returned his hand behind the small of his back and made very direct eye contact with the Ambassador.

"Please remain your distance," he said carefully and smoothly through the heavy accent.

The blue Syndic, his two guards, the Jedi, and CJ30 entered what appeared to be a conference room with a table to the right and a large, open space with windows on the far wall. The two guards took up position on either side of the door leading back out into the hallway with their feet spread shoulder width apart and their hands clasped behind their backs.

"You refer to the ability of precognition as an 'only one arm' of this 'Force'," the Syndic said as they stood facing each other in the room. "Can you further describe the 'Force' further using known features of nature?" he asked. Plo Koon brought his clawed hand to the flesh beneath his mask at his chin and pondered.

"It is an underlying current in the universe generated by all living things," he said. The Syndic's glowing red eyes bore into the expressionless goggles of Plo Koon's mask seemingly waiting for more. Plo Koon considered explaining the difference between the Cosmic Force and the Living Force and how one fed into the other like rivers feeding into a lake, but he decided against it. Such detail would likely be lost in translation and would only confuse the matter. "It is similar to hyperspace," he finally said with an open hand.

"Is it another dimension that is amongst us in the same space and time but simply out of," the Syndic paused as he glanced to his left finding the word. Then he looked back to Plo Koon, "out of phase?" Plo Koon was challenged to find accuracy in the equasion, but the man's interpretation was close.

"Yes," Plo Koon conformed. "Some of us can simply detect it. Others can influence it." The Syndic raised the corners of his eyebrows in reaction.

"Influence?" he asked.

"Indeed. For some of us, the Force is a tangible object that we can manipulate."

This revelation was becoming more and more interesting.

"Can you influence temporal events?" the Syndic asked.

"No, but it gives us the ability to physically influence objects."

Indeed the description of the 'Force' was explaining a great many things. The Syndic had seen the same phenomenon described by the Jedi demonstrated by his navigator. It was as if his navigator could manipulate objects with his mind.

"Can you demonstrate this ability?" the Syndic asked. Plo Koon pulled a chance cube from one of his pockets and placed it in the middle of his hand. He held his hand out palm up with the cube resting in its middle. The Syndic watched with great interest as the cube lifted off Plo Koon's palm and floated in the air. It hovered two dozen centimeters above Plo Koon's palm and rotated in the air. The Syndic pulled the fingers of his glove, loosening it from around his hand, and removed it revealing a dark blue humanoid hand. He slowly reached out with his forefinger and thumb grabbed the hovering cube out of the air. Plo Koon slowly dropped his hand as the Syndic examined it. He shifted his red eyes back to Plo Koon and examined him for a moment. Then with an open, outstretched hand, the cube rested in his palm.

"Can you do it again?" he asked. Plo Koon lifted the cube off the Syndic's hand with the Force, and brought it back to his own. The cube landed in the Keldor's hand, and he closed his fingers around it. The Syndic looked up at Plo Koon and the Jedi beside him.

"These skills do not diminish with age?" he asked. Plo Koon shook his head.

"No. With training, one can become proficient in these and others and use them throughout one's entire life."

"Fascinating." The Syndic paused as he considered the potential implications of this revelation. The Syndic's eyes drew over Plo Koon's dark, metallic mask.

Plo Koon watched the Syndic as he stood still and stoic as if chiseled from blue, glacial ice. This species was fascinating. He initially thought they were Pantorans, but he realized they were not; perhaps an offshoot but certainly not the specific species. In addition to what seemed like incredible deductive abilities, the Jedi Master also noted that every time the alien man spoke, his accent faded more and more. Whoever these people were, they were very intelligent and were able to pick up on things quickly.

The orange man had made a convincing case that he and his female associate were indeed the Jedi of legend, but he needed concrete confirmation. There were only few ways, however to do that. After a moment, the Syndic brought his eyes back up to Plo Koon's and narrowed them.

"Unfortunately, we know like the Sith, the Jedi have been dead for a thousand years," he said flatly in nearly an accusatory tone. "You have provided what could be learned knowledge of lore then supported with a magician's trick, not uncommon to deceptive alien species we have encountered," the Syndic said disbelievingly. "I give you once chance to prove your claims."

Plo Koon began exploring the options in his mind as the Syndic looked at him very directly. Could they demonstrate on a hyperspace run? They could show the _Radiant_ 's navigational record of the journey to his point. The Syndic dropped his arms to his sides, and the disbelieving look turned to annoyance and dismissal. He cut his red eyes as he turned and began walking toward the door that was flanked by his guards.

The Jedi Master knew his opportunity was fleeting. They may very well lose the chance they came all the way out...

Suddenly both Jedi felt it. A distinct ripple in the Force got their attention.

Time slowed, and without looking, they could feel the Syndic and his four guards along the wall drawing their weapons very quickly, surprisingly fast in fact.

Plo Koon didn't even have time to draw his lightsaber, instead he called it to his left hand with the Force. It disengaged from the belt clip, and flew through the air. By the time the hilt slapped into his hand, he Syndic had completed his turn, and the weapon's muzzle flashed blue.

The plasma blade lanced out from the hilt's emitter face with a brilliant green blaze and sizzling _snap-vroooom!_ The action time was so fast, the blade barely had enough time to extend far enough to make contact with the blaster bolt as it raced toward the Jedi Master. Tai'aana had a similar challenge. Her own blue blade reached out and deflected two bolts fired in her direction.

With his blade swinging in the cross-draw from right to left across his torso, he deflected the Syndic's initial bolt and a second from the guard behind him. As Plo Koon did this, he scanned the neutral expressions of their blue faces as the red light shown from under their eyebrows. As the Syndic pulled off another shot, the Jedi Master brought the blade around, under, and up deflecting it into the ceiling. Finishing the parry with his left hand, both he and Tai'aana turned toward the aliens and threw an invisible wall of the Force against all five men. The four guards impacted the far bulkhead hard, and Tai'aana made a fist gripping their weapons. Pulling her fist back toward her, the weapons were ripped away from all five mens' grips.

Taken off his feet by Plo Koon's Force push, the Syndic in the air by the Jedi Master. The collar of the man's uniform crumpled around his neck as the Jedi Master squeezed hard.

As time returned to normal for them, the Jedi Master made a fist with his right hand and raised it eye level, suspending the Syndic off the ground with the Force. With his brilliant green blade rumbling its deep, signature _humm!_ he held the weapon down and to his side as he shouted through his mask.

"I said we come in peace!"

As the Syndic hung in the air by his neck, he expressed a note, but only a note, of distress on his face.

"It was necessary," the Syndic said through a closing throat.

"Why?" Plo Koon growled darkly.

"It was the only way to prove your claims," he said.

"The only?" the Jedi Master asked darkly.

"Allow me to explain," the Syndic said.

As Plo Koon sat at the table, he clicked his clawed index finger over the ribbed grip of his lightsaber. He closely watched the Syndic as he explained himself. The Syndic showed little sign that he had just been assaulted and dominated by the Force. Plo Koon continued to probe the Syndic's mind, and he felt it was still and smooth and honest. His pulse was slow and steady. As the Syndic explained his actions, his logic was clear and rational.

"The assault was the way to not simply prove your skills of Third-Sight but to validate your identity as 'Jedi'," the Syndic said cooly and methodically. "The authenticity of your 'lightsabers'," he pronounced carefully, "and your ability to wield the energy field 'the Force' of legend could all be demonstrated at once."

"If the legends had not been true or if we had miscalculated?" Plo Koon asked.

"Then you would have died," the Syndic said flatly.

"And if we had not displayed restraint in our defense but instead killed you?" Plo Koon asked.

"Then we would have validated your identity as Sith instead of Jedi, and my crew would have eliminated your diplomatic team and destroyed your ship and all of its crew," the Syndic said flatly without having to think. While a detestable thought, the Jedi Master Plo Koon knew it to be true.

This illustrated to the Jedi Master this had indeed been planned out. This man was not flying by the seat of his pants; instead he was able to rapidly make well-conceived plans, communicate them to his people without being noticed, and execute them with speed and precision.

The mental and athletic prowess of these people was unbelievable and difficult to keep up with, much less anticipate. He considered that if a ship's commander could turn and utilize a weapon with such speed and accuracy, his entire force was likely equally if not more lethal.

"You are a race of warriors," Plo Koon observed. The Syndic nodded once.

"As are you," he said, his red eyes now showing a note of trust and perhaps - admiration. "I believe you live up to the legends of your people, Jedi Plo Koon," he said shifting his eyes to the Twil'lik, "and Jedi Tai'aana." He paused a long moment as he looked between the two.

He finally spoke again. "We do have an individual aboard this ship who demonstrates similar abilities to what you have. He detected you aboard your ship as you detected him aboard ours. You say you wish to speak with him," he confirmed. Plo Koon nodded. "To what end?"

"We wish to make him and your people the offer to refine his skills and to teach him the nature of the Force," Plo Koon paused, "to become a Jedi."

 _To refine his skills,_ the Syndic repeated in his mind. _To become a Jedi._ Indeed it was very rare for their youth's skills of Third Sight to last beyond adolescence. However, due to his navigator's advanced skill of navigation and the other abilities he demonstrated, the statistical probability was more in favor of this child retaining the skill and being able to build upon it.

"If we refuse?" the Syndic asked in a hardened but interested tone.

"Then we would be on our way."

The ambassador stood with his arms crossed looking out the window at the _Radiant XI_ below them. He took a deep, frustrated breath as he stared out the window at the barely visible blue color scheme on the top of the diplomatic ship. He turned as he heard the door open and saw the two Jedi. His expression was slightly annoyed as he turned to Plo Koon.

"Have you made any progress, Master Jedi?" he asked. "They won't even talk to us."

Plo Koon approached the ambassador and placed his clawed hand on his shoulder and turned them away from the two security guards flanking the door. The ambassador felt a calm wash over him as they both looked out the window at the _Radiant_.

"Did they shoot at you?" the Jedi Master asked. The Ambassador looked to him with a surprise.

"What?" he asked.

"I do not believe they are interested in conventional diplomatic negotiations, Ambassador," the Jedi Master said.

The Syndic stood in the middle of a rather large chamber, looking up with his arms clasped behind his back as if speaking to a group. An iridescent, blue light washed over him as he peered upward. As he stood in what was referred to as "the Speaking Circle", he had already laid out much of the situation.

"I have a strong belief that these ambassadors are indeed the Jedi of legend," 'Ras said. He was surrounded in an arc by holographic images of the thirteen members of his people's ruling council. There was a rare murmur amongst them at the suggestion that the "Jedi" were not only real, but there were currently two on his ship.

"You refer to the dichotomic beings known as the Jedi and the Sith?" a councilman to his right clarified. The man sitting in the middle of the council looked down at the Syndic. "And you believe these two ambassadors to be Jedi?"

"Indeed, I do. They have demonstrated use of the pen'eu'ehay, the gift of Third-Sight, and the tangible manipulation of the energetic subspace," he said.

"If that is the case, why do you believe they are one over the other?"

"The Jedi were described to be calm, logical, open, and fearless. The Sith were described to be suspicious, defensive, calculating, and cunning. These beings are willing to talk, discuss, and even accept refusal if it is the answer." A long pause passed in the chamber.

"Then why not refuse them?" one asked rhetorically. "You are proposing us hand over not just one of the few males but one of the strongest of all Ozyly-esehembo to strangers we have only recently met."

"Indeed," 'Ras said. "We have an unprecedented opportunity to expand the capabilities of the Ozyly-esehembo corps. If we allow him to leave us and be trained by these beings, the Jedi, there is the possibility he could return to us having learned the techniques to retain and expand the skills of the Ozyly-esehembo."

"Then he could train the others," another on the council said. While they had all followed the man's logic, they sat in deep thought of the possibility and potential future benefit of having adolescents and even adult Ozyly-esehembo to navigate their fleet, or more, have a new class of warriors utilizing the other abilities of the 'Force' the Syndic had described in detail. The moment of dead silence grew longer and longer until finally the council's chair spoke.

"This is both disconcerting," he said looking down at the Syndic, "and fascinating." They all realized this was a fleeting opportunity. They faced the possibility to grow the power of their Ozyly-esehembo by untold magnitudes. Could they afford to not take this opportunity? A female on the council spoke.

"Now that the foreigners are here, we are faced with a choice, to either take advantage of the opportunity laid before us or let it escape."

The man in the center of the council then tested the opposite side of the argument.

"What if we eliminate them?"

"I have considered this option as well," 'Ras said. "As I described earlier, with the test of their identities, their combat capabilities are rapid, efficient, and effective. If we were to eliminate them and even conceal any trace of their having been here, I believe others would arrive investigating their disappearance. Even if these two are exceptional amongst their tribe, if a force of 'Jedi' were to discover such a deception, it may well trigger a conflict that would lead to end of us."

Another murmur rippled through the council. The man in the center of the holographic arc leaned in toward the Syndic in an almost accusatory gesture.

"That is a bold statement," he said powerfully.

"It is," 'Ras said. "I make it carefully."

The Council fell silent in consideration. A female to his right spoke next.

"This brings up another point of discussion. What of the government these 'Jedi' serve? Is it worth opening dialogue with the Galactic Republic this early in our plans?" The man in the center of the council wove his hand dismissively.

"That possibility exists, and it is a possibility worth discussing again at a later time," he said breaking the topic there. "If we are to go about this course of action, we must be certain and resolved. The boy's mission must be clear and communicated to him unequivocally."

"An explanation will need to be made to his family. He will have to cut all ties and go with the strangers." A long pause passed amongst the council as they all considered the ramifications of asking a child to take on such a task.

"Your ruling?" 'Ras asked. He watched each of the council members nod respectively. The man in the center locked his holographic eyes with 'Ras.

"Proceed with the offer."

'Ras inclined his head in a slight bow. "I shall discuss it with the boy."

Aboard the _Concordance_ , Syndic 'Ras stood, leaning against the bulkhead outside the boy's quarters with his arms cross across his chest as he listened to the boy's conversation.

"I have been illuminated that this may indeed be the best thing for our people," his young voice said. "I understand I must to let you go. I appreciate my upbringing."

"You are to be commended, son," he heard the boy's mother say over the holovid.

"We knew you were meant for great things," he heard the father say. "You will carry the name far." A line cut from the edge of the Syndic's square jaw to the corner of his eye as he clenched his jaw as he pondered the prospect of so abruptly losing one of his sons to such a mission.

He heard the boy close out the holovid and walk out of his quarters with a bag over his shoulder. The boy looked up to the ship's commander casually leaning on the bulkhead in his dark uniform.

"I am ready, Syndic," the boy said. 'Ras looked down noting the boy's large, youthful eyes.

"Are you?" he asked contemplating the very adult ramifications of this choice. A moment passed as 'Ras watched the boy reconsider the concept simply because he asked him to.

"You believe this is the best course of action," the boy asked in his child's voice. The Syndic noted that they boy was making his decision based off trust in him and the others he had spoken with. He stood off the bulkhead and knelt bringing himself eye level with the boy.

"We do," Syndic said. The boy fell silent as he looked over the older man's face and examined his subtle body language. He reached out with his mind and felt the Commander's mind for honesty or deception. He felt the man's mind was smooth and confident as normal, but there was a slightly uncommon texture to it, one of - concern. The boy furrowed his brow momentarily.

"You're concerned for me?" he asked. The Syndic smiled slightly.

"Indeed," he said. "We are investing your future to the unknown for the potential gain of the greater good," he said. "This is usually a choice we only give to adults."

"But this is the best choice," the boy said as if it were clear as day. "Is it not?" The Syndic nodded slightly.

"Indeed it is."

After a moment of further analysis, the boy slightly nodded his head confidently.

"Then I maintain my agreeance."

'Ras nodded and stood.

"Then, it is, and it shall be."

Jedi master Plo Koon watched the blue, authoritative man and the boy speaking in their native language. Neither of the two Jedi nor C-3J0 could understand what they were saying, but it seemed like it was more than just a goodbye. It seemed like the boy was memorizing instructions.

"You have great courage. Remember your purpose," 'Ras said to the boy.

"Then I bid you a goodbye," the boy said. 'Ras subtly smiled, and the boy reached out and grasp the man's wrist. He grasped the boy's much smaller upper forearm in the hand shake of warriors.

The Syndic stood and looked to Tai'aana.

"You speak languages of this region of space, correct?" he asked with his red eyes penetrating the Jedi's.

"Yes. Kriff, Sy Bisti, Jefi'is," she said.

"Sy Bisti is the most accurate," he said. "If the meaning of words is in question, you can translate most effectively in it."

The Jedi nodded at the directness of the statement. He gave her a confidence of command most did not wield. If he could do so with such a simple statement, it was no wonder why this man was in command. She smiled.

"Thank you, Syndic."

The _Radiant XI_ 's Captain received the report that the shuttle was docked.

"Helm, reverse engines and back us a thousand meters away from the ship," he said. The Nubian helmsman did, and the large, grey warship began to shrink steadily in the main view screen. The ship was indeed large and impressive.

After a moment, the doors to the bridge opened revealing the two Jedi.

"Captain," he heard the Jedi Master say, "respectfully request permission to enter the bridge."

"Granted, did you get what you were looking..." the Captain stopped his sentence as he turned and saw the Master Jedi with a hand around the shoulder of a short, black hair, blue skinned child.

"Indeed, we did," the Jedi Master said. "May I introduce you to our guest, Mit'teem." The Captain looked at the deep blue skin of the child as he looked around the bridge. Then the child directed his eyes, his red eyes the captain noted, to the Captain with a confident directness he had never seen in a child. The Captain stood and stepped off his elevated command platform. He closed on them and took a knee in front of the child and out stretched his hand.

"Hello, my name is Captain Mercer. You are aboard the _Radiant Eleven_. Welcome." The child smiled largely and grabbed his wrist and gripped it strongly.

"Hello," the boy said. "My name is Mit'raw'teem'ri'kleeoto," he said in a heavy, clipped accent.

"He is a Force Sensitive of their people," Plo Koon said. "I believe we have made a great stride toward positive relations with them."

"Impressive," Captain Mercer said. He stood and looked back to his navigation officer. "Helm, set a reciprocal course and prepare to engage the hyperdrive."

"Captain. We have been warned that spacial anomalies appear by the minute." He looked to Tai'aana. "In order to return home, we will have to use the same methods to navigate out as we did in."

"Understood," the Captain said as Tai'anna smiled. The Captain smiled and opened his arm to the helm. He looked down at the boy again.

"How do you pronounce your name?" Captain Mercer asked. The boy pronounced it again in the heavy accent. The Captain attempted to repeat it, but the boy corrected him. He tried again, and he boy smiled.

"Do not worry, Captain. I understand my language is difficult," he said. "Please use my core name, 'Mit'teem'," he said with a friendly, boyish smile.

"How long have you been practicing Galactic Basic?" Captain Mercer asked.

"Two hours," he said quickly. Mercer furrowed his brow.

"Two hours?" he asked.

"A little longer," he articulated modestly through his heavy accent. "Basic is not difficult, but it will take time to pronounce it correctly," he said. The Captain smiled. An alien boy who barely had a grasp on the language had more tact than most Jedi. "Captain," the boy said looking up to Captain Mercer. "Can I watch Tai'aana?" he asked. Plo Koon looked up to the Captain.

"He was the chief navigator aboard their ship," he said. Captain Mercer looked to the Jedi Master and pointed at the boy.

"Their chief navigator?" he asked.

"He is very skilled at his craft," the Keldor said. Captain Mercer cocked his head and took a deep breath.

"Please be my guest, Mit'teem," he said. The boy walked with a purpose to Tai'aana's side at the helm. Captain Mercer heard the Jedi say something to Mit'teem in another language, but he responded that he would like to communicate in Basic, because that was going to be his "new" language.

Standing next to the Jedi Master with an impressed look, he leaned in toward Plo Koon. "He is whom you detected?" he asked.

"Indeed, he is," Plo Koon said. They listened the two describe gravitational constants and other interstellar anomalies they may face on their transit back.

"Remarkable," Mercer said.

The Syndic watched the large, three engined vessel bank and accelerate away from his ship. Another blue skinned male in a similar uniform stood next to him.

"You're uneasy about this?" he asked the Syndic.

"I am, brother," he said. "The translation droid they have expressed self-awareness, and the Jedi confirmed he is its master."

"Is slavery your concern?" the Syndic's brother asked. The Syndic imperceptibly nodded, a motion only someone as attentive as his people could detect. "When it is my time to execute my mission, I will monitor him from afar."

'Ras turned to his brother. "They are tall missions you and Mit'raw'teem'ri'kleeoto have been asked to fill. You and he have my greatest respect."  
They both looked out the bridge window as the Republic ship's engines flashed, and it stretched and disappeared into hyperspace.


	11. I Need You to Lead

Short-Sidedness Leads to Dissidence.

Dissidence Leads to Disaster.

Disaster Leads to Death.

Dramin watched the train rush past him as he stood on the platform. His eyes flickered brightly as the windows of the cars raced by. The cold breeze whipped over him as the cars passed. It was beginning to get cold on the city planet of Coruscant. Dramin noted that the seasons on this particular planet were very strange. Since the oceans had been long since drained away, and most vegetation was gone, he wondered if seasons were engineered and programed to happen at certain times of year.

The train stopped, and the doors opened. He let everyone on the train step out, and he stepped in. He took a seat and put his right foot up on the armrest of the empty seat ahead of him. He pushed his hands into the pockets on his hooded jacket as he looked out the window. He took a deep breath and relaxed as the train accelerated and whisked him away.

He had just finished simulation training with Mit'teem. He had worn a type of suit that looked like battle armor the Clone Troopers would wear, but the stuff had not fit him. Mit'teem had him put on some sort of form-fitting body glove thing that acted as an anchor base for armor plates. When fully assembled, it was a suit you were supposed to sky-dive with or something. After they had both suited up, Mit'teem had taken him into a practice simulator with an instructor. He was forced to do what called a "tandem jump" with the instructor. They did so five individual times, and today was his last observed "untethered" jump-day. An hour ago, he got his certification to jump untethered, and now he was certified to own his own jump suit and to jump alone. This had been some expensive stuff, and it promised to be even more expensive, but he had agreed to it, so he was doing it.

Expensive or not, it was a lot of work. They had spent ten hours jumping in the simulator today. The focus required was mentally taxing. There was no way he was going to fail the untethered jumps in front of Mit'teem, so he poured everything he had into it…and he was exhausted.

Dramin watched the cityscape race by. He felt at ease as he sat on the train. There was a touch of anxiety, but he was able to push it away. A second-order benefit of going out to this training facility was that he had to ride the train three times a week. At first he had to fight the anxiety, but now he was getting far more comfortable. It wasn't even that big of a deal anymore, and that alone had been worth the cost of the training sessions.

Several pink lights shot past the train as they took him back to a memory of his home world. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and sighed deeply. His memory shot to the years after he had been rescued, after he had been trained and had earned his place in the brotherhood of the Kage Warrior.

* * *

Three years earlier, Dramin rode on the massive centipede called a Methlodon his people used as transport. He pulled the left of the reins to follow the two other creatures of the assault element ahead of him. He looked over his shoulder checking his other comrades, and there were only three remaining of the original twelve. Ahead of him, the assault elements leader, Krismo, was leading the way. They had to rescued his sister, royalty of the Kage people in a daring raid against the slave traders. This time, they had come up against extremely skilled mercenaries. One had even had red swords. The mission tonight had been to rescue Krismo's sister from being delivered as a sex slave. While living as a sex slave was a horrible fate, tonight they barely got away with their lives, and that angered Dramin.

The assault element passed under the crystalline tree as the group of fighters raced towards their subterranean base.

Racist persecution had driven the Kage society to guerrilla warfare. Many years earlier, the Kage had competed in the galactic Olympics displaying their incredible gymnastic and athletic abilities, however when the Belugans seized control of his world and enslaved his people, the Kage then turned their athletic abilities toward warfare. As the Kage were driven underground, the Olympic martial artists took the beautiful sport back to its origins and began training the other resistance fighters in mortal combat. Now, nearly all of the Kage males and most of the females continually trained in lethal combat sports and guerrilla warfare. They became experts in assassination techniques, covert infiltration, and hand-to-hand bladed combat techniques. With their strategic and tactical skill, the Kage were steadily gaining ground over the Belugan forces.

With the sparking of the Galactic Clone Wars and the Confederacy of Independent Systems looking for resources and allies, things suddenly got worse. The tables were turned when the Separatist Union joined the side of the Belugans.

Battle Droids were added to the equation, and they caused a very serious tactical problem. Intelligence reports estimated that there were only two-thousand droids on the side of the Belugans, but seeing how there were only twice that many active Kage Warriors, those droids tipped the scales. With the Galactic Republic surprisingly absent for the time being, the Kage seem to be on their own, and things were getting bad.

Dramin pulled the reigns controlling the massive Methlodon and matched the rest of the elements' speed. As they slowed to a trot, Dramin leaped to the ground and guided his Methlodon to the watering trough. After a moment, all three of the creatures tied to and drinking from the massive watering troughs.

As the other warriors dismounted and gathered, they all walked toward the subterranean entrance to their staging location. The area was so dark that the only visible feature was the light kicking off their golden eyes. One after another, they passed through armor doors and into the massive staging area. Five paces into the staging area, Dramin pulled off his mask and threw it to the ground exposing his bloody face. He clinched his teeth and drew both of his shoto blades and threw them onto the ground, clattering loudly. All of the warriors stopped and looked at him, including their leader. His two electro blades lay on the ground sizzling.

"How many brothers did we lose tonight?" Dramin asked. He already knew. His leader, Krismo, look at him through the corner of his eye as he stood, holding his traumatized sister against his chest. She looked at him with traumatized pink eyes. Krismo communicate something to her and signaled for another of his brothers to approach. Another of the warriors took his sister to the side, and then he looked directly at Dramin. "Thirty-one," Dramin said. "We don't even know how many of them are still alive."

Krismo closed the distance between the two. The other warriors went about their business and clearly knew to give their leader a wide berth.

"Dramin, if you need to speak, speak to me."

"What are we doing?" he said in a forcefully quiet voice. "We cannot continue to take these kinds of losses, especially with the Separatists here. If we do, then we will all die." Krismo narrowed his eyes and looked into Dramin's.

"Every fight we wage is a carefully considered one. I almost shared the same fate as our brothers tonight. We all know the risks."

Dramin felt his blood boil and his temper flair.

"But for one person?" Dramin said through clenched teeth. Defiance. That single question in this atmosphere questioned the legitimacy of his judgement.

Krismo steadily looked into Dramin's eyes and saw that he wanted to fight. Krismo grunted in understanding.

"If you want to fight somebody, then you fight me." He paused and looked to another of the warriors. "Movecho, assemble the rescue formation." Krismo pointed toward the large, thickly built Kage Warrior. "You have command of the rescue operation."

"They are going to rescue?" Dramin asked.

"Yes," Krismo said.

"Then I want to go!" he shouted.

"No," Krismo shifted his eyes back to Dramin. " _They_ are going on the rescue mission. _You_ and _I_ have an issue to work out," he said and pointed off his left side. "Dojo."

Dramin saw his brothers gearing back up to mount a rescue. A rescue was part of the plan all along! Dramin looked back to Krismo, his peoples' leader, and saw him pointing toward the dojo, the place where they sparred and practiced their combat techniques and forms.

It was at that moment that Dramin realized he had fucked up. Krismo began walking toward the dojo, and Dramin followed.

"Your misbehavior is an error. Clearly I have not given you the leadership and guidance you need." Krismo said as they walked. "I have failed you. You have my most sincere apologies." Over his shoulder, Krismo shot Dramin a predatory look. "Now I will correct that error and give you very clear and direct guidance."

They cleared into the large sparring dojo with a padded floor in its center with training weapons mounted on two of the four walls and mirrors on the other two.

"You are of my best, and I cannot have you do something like this," Krismo said as he led Dramin into the dojo. "I need for you to be with me every step of the way if you understand or not. You cannot openly question me." Krismo stopped and faced Dramin, the look in his uniquely golden eye cut with what was worse, disappointed anger. He pointed at Damin's face. "I welcome your criticism. I want your opinion and your ideas. However," he barked, "you cannot sew discourse by openly questioning my judgement." He began to circle Dramin like a predator circling its pray. "My sister needs your strength. Not your criticism." Dramin broke eye contact and directed his eyes to the ground as Krismo passed behind him. "A thousand goods can be erased by a single fault," Krismo said as he came back around to Dramin's face. "Today you faulted." Krismo stepped onto the sparing mats with his boots on.

One never did this!

"Boots on?" Dramin asked asked with an unconfident voice. As Krismo nearer the center of the mat, he simply pointed to the middle of the mat.

"Now."

Dramin felt wrong as he stepped onto the mat in his full combat gear. Before he realized it, Krismo reached out with a left hook and struck him in the cheek. A white flash ripped across Dramin's vision as he was knocked to the mat. He instinctually rolled and came back up on his feet with his guard up.

"Do you realize what you did?" Krismo asked.

"I was insubordinate?" he asked.

"Is that a question?" Krismo shouted as he threw a back kick in Dramin's direction. Dramin rolled and missed it only to realize it was a faint as he caught Dramin's boot on his left cheek. The impact was harder than he had expected. Dramin hit the mat with his face and rolled back up onto his feet as well as he could. "You are short-sided. That shortsidedneas has led to defiance. Defiance will _NOT_ be tolerated!" Krismo shouted in an angry, bladed tone Dramin had never heard come from Krismo before. Krismo closed on Dramin in just as fast a manner. It was all Dramin could do to throw his arms up, tuck them into his sides, and duck his head in defense. Krismo threw what must have been an eight strike chain combination to his arms and solorplexus with penetrating strength. Krismo drove his knee into Dramin's left side, opening the two up a step and threw a powerful back kick to Dramin's closed forearms, and Dramin was taken off his feet.

Dramin landed and rolled onto his feet with fear struck across his face. He shook the pain out of his forearms.

"Learn to think before you speak," Krismo said before he threw another combination Dramin had never seen before. Krismo rapidly chain struck Dramin very fast and very hard. As he blocked to the right, Dramin took a full power side kick to his left solid plexus. He creased over the kick and stumbled to his right with the force of the kick. He hit the ground, rolled, and regained his footing slower this time.

 _He is so strong!_ Dramin thought. All the time he had spent with Krismo sparing and learning, Krismo had never revealed this kind of power!

"Learn to consider what might be happening that you are not aware of," Krismo said. He threw a three-shot combination of strikes to Dramin's face. Dramin' tried to cover his head up with his gauntlet clad forearms, but as Krismo threw the strikes, he drove Dramin's armored forearms into his face hard. "Realize things are going on that you likely are not aware of."

As Dramin staggered back, Krismo jumped and threw two front kicks into Dramin's forearms, forcing his guard open. As Krismo landed, he short-stepped forward and turned with his Olympic speed throwing a back kick to Dramin's gut again. This time Dramin was fully taken off his feet, fell on his armored shoulder and tumbled onto his side. A solid blast of pain fired through his liver like a fire hose. Even through his armor Krismo was able to cripple him with blunt blows. They had not even grappled yet.

Dramin rolled onto his stomach and uncontrollably convulsed several more dry heaves from his empty stomach. He panted deeply as he tried to stand but failed. After a moment, he stood one leg at a time and brought his guard back up.

Krismo pointed at him.

"You have to understand that there is a bigger picture that you probably don't see. As a leader you have to communicate that to your men. I need for you to be a leader."

This hit an area Dramin was conflicted about. It was something he had never understood!

"How do I communicate that when I don't understand it?" he asked.

"Sometimes you have to work to understand. If you don't understand, then communicate _UP_ the chain of command. You ask. Communicate one on one. _EVERY_ individual. You must inspire. It is your responsibility to understand so you can communicate the message and earn the trust and loyalty of your men." Krismo closed on him. Dramin brought his arms up and flexed his entire back not knowing what was to come. He gritted his teeth as he took the impact of a side kick to his left side, creasing his back muscle. Krismo spun and landed a full kick directly to his chest. Time slowed as he felt Krismo's boot drive through his chest. His breath was forced from his lungs as he rag-dolled around Krismo's unbelievably powerful kick. He was again taken off his feet and flew through the air. He hit the ground and tumbled backward over himself on the mat. This time he did not roll gracefully back onto his feet. He slid to a stop face down. He felt as if his lungs were collapsed. He tried to inhale but felt as if he were in a vacuum.

Krismo looked down at Dramin barely out of breath as he watched one of his star up-comers lay on the ground. He watched the young Kage Warrior gasp several desperate breaths trying to refill his lungs. He brought his arms beneath himself and finally refilled his lungs just to dry heave several times.

Krismo stood looking down at the crumpled form of Dramin.

"I thought you were more," Krismo said. "I am very disappointed." Slowly, Dramin pressed up unsteadily erecting his torso before he crumpled forward catching himself with his right hand. He panted in rapid, wheezing, short breaths.

"Why?" he asked. Krismo stood watching his man for another moment before he responded.

"You are un-disciplined," Krismo said slowly. A long moment passed as Dramin straightened his torso and folded his legs under his rear and sat in the position they took when receiving instruction. He panted hard with his hands on his upper legs. The light prismed off his reflective golden eyes as the violence pushed the stress over.

"I understand," Dramin said as tears drained into his nostrils. He hard metallic taste of blood coated his mouth. His torso convulsed as he let the emotional pressure release. He took his head into his hands. He had reached his limit. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I lost my humility." There was a long pause where Krismo watched Dramin toil with himself.

"Look at me," Krismo said. Dramin looked up and made eye contact. Krismo pointed his hand at him. "You have used your one credit. You can never have a compromise of character again." He paused letting the warning sink in. "I need for you to be with me every step of the way if you understand or not." A second passed between them as Krismo drilled his gaze into Dramin's. He pointed out the corridors to the other Kage as they departed to the rescue mission. "You are one of my best. You need to be a rock," he said with a hard emphasis. "They need your strength. My sister needs your strength. I need your strength." Dramin began to catch his breath. Dramin broke eye contact as Krismo interrogated him with his eyes. "Now, tell me what you have learned."

"Ask if I don't know," Dramin said. Krismo maintained his gaze. "Set the example. Be the rock,"

"We deal in absolutes," Krismo said. "Once you're dead, you're dead. How would you feel if one of your men died because you didn't set the right example, if you were not their absolute, their rock?" He let the hard question hang in the air. "Could you live with yourself if you set the wrong example, because you were unprepared?"

"No," Dramin finally said. He looked back up to Krismo's hard, penetrating gaze. "Lead by example," he said.

Krismo's gaze softened slightly, and after a moment he extended his arm with an open, out stretched hand. Dramin reached and clasped his leader's, his brother's gauntleted forearm and was lifted back up. As Krismo lifted Dramin back to his feet, he put his opposite hand on Dramin's neck and looked into his eyes.  
"Stay on the path. Don't stray and walk the slippery slope. Prepare." Dramin nodded and blinked the tears away.

"Fortune favors the prepared," he said, the motto of the Kage Warrior.

Krismo nodded and smiled. "Fortune favors the prepared."

* * *

Dramin sat in the seat with his hand covering his face. Even remembering the experience embarrassed him.

"Oh, my god," he said muffled through the palm of his hand. Dramin put his head back on the seatback and recollected. That was a turning point in his life. He took a long, deep breath.

As Mit'teem had said, there are certainties in life, and these are them. He was ashamed that he ever questioned them. He learned these lessons in combat, and he began to question them. It took Mit'teem to remind him that the lessons learned in combat are the most basic, the most primal. There was no revoking those lessons. There was only building upon them.

Then again, Dramin examined the other side of the blade. He had gained over twenty pounds since he had run that operation. He had stacked on the muscle, doubled his strength, and sharpened his reaction time. He was powerful. He was knowledgeable. He was able to defend himself under nearly any situation. He had befriended someone who could help him stay sharp, get better, and stay on the path. He closed his eyes and relaxed against the seat.

"Fortune favors the prepared," he said as he looked at his reflection against the city's golden backdrop in the window. Some day, someone was going to come for whatever reason. "Fortune favors the prepared."


	12. The First Day in College

Orphaned...Again

"Fear not for the future, weep not for the past."

Mit'teem walked with Dramin as they crossed campus. Mit'teem wore a shirt that read "Finish it" in Arebesh, and Dramin wore one that was adorned with the UoC crest. They both wore shorts and carried a rolled towel and rubberized fins tucked beneath their arms. In Dramin's right hand hung his goggles, and Mit'teem's hung around his neck. After the walk, they began to part ways, and Mit'teem pointed at Dramin.

"I'll see you tomorrow for jump training," he said. The Kage Warrior gave him a thumbs up with a smile. Mit'teem climbed the steps to his dorm two at a time and opened one of the double doors to the building. He almost didn't notice the smell of chlorine as he entered the building, but it was there. He shifted the fins and towel to his other hand as he drew his key card holder from his pocket. He slid the key card away from his ID and held it as he rounded the second floor landing and climbed to the third. He instinctually rounded the turn and walked down the hallway to his room. He slid the key card into the reader and withdrew it, opening the door.

Mit'teem reflected that it had been another good day in class and another good day of physical training as he stepped into the dorm room. He felt like he had finally hit his stride. Class was going well, the gym was going well, he had built a good friendship with Dramin and a good romantic relationship with Ashha. Possibly equally as good was that he wasn't bothered by the Jedi any more. He was actually appreciative for what they had given him. The avenues he was going down and the way his mind was expanding was unexpected and very rewarding.

Mit'teem considered it more as he pulled the goggles up and over his head and pressed the activation button opening his closet door. He never realized that he would be living such a freer life, a life so…liberated. He set his goggles in their place on the shelf, and he hung his fins on the hook hanging from the wall.

He and Dramin had gotten a little too competitive on the mat lately and pulled a muscle in the neck here, and tweaked a knee there, so they were taking a week off. Instead, they were doing pool work, and Mit'teem was teaching Dramin how to swim with fins.

Mit'teem walked over to his dresser and pulled open the drawer. He noticed he was getting low on clean clothes. He pulled out a pair of underwear and threw them onto his bed and grabbed a short-sleeved shirt. When he lifted it, he revealed the white draw-string shirt at the bottom of the drawer. He paused as he looked at it.

"Hmmph," he grunted to himself. "What do you know?" he asked himself. He typically never got this low on clothes, so he didn't get to the bottom of the drawer often. He set the shirt on his bed and reached into the drawer, grabbing the white draw-string shirt. He lifted it out of the drawer and held it with both hands. He ran his thumbs over the neck and the eyelets the strings ran through as he remembered the last time he had worn it, what felt like a lifetime now.

A year and a half earlier, Mit'teem the Jedi Padawan...the former Jedi Padawan…stood at the edge of his bed in his quarters in the Jedi temple. He stood there stunned as his meeting with the Council still racing through his mind.

He just stood there.

Only fifteen minutes prior he had been a Jedi Padawan. He thought he had been doing pretty well, but little did he know he had sealed his fate days prior, and the Council, his _master_ , had waited to tell him until he got back onto Coruscant.

He had been expelled.

He stood unmoving. He had been _expelled!_

He had been told in no uncertain terms that he could not tell anyone had been part of the Jedi Order, he could never again access the Force. If he did, they would know, they would find him, and they would hold a formal tribunal in front of the Senate, and he would either live the rest of his days in prison, or he would be executed. Instead, he had been given a full scholarship to the University of Coruscant to…go to school? How was he supposed to do that?

Now he had to leave.

Mit'teem broke into motion and opened the clasp holding the belt around his waist loosening the belt. He removed the belt and laid it on his bed next to an off-white long-sleeve shirt with a draw-string neck. As it lay there, he noticed the belt clip for his lightsaber was empty, and the weapon, _his_ weapon, was nowhere to be seen. He knew he would likely never see it again.

Without a word and with an expressionless face, he began to remove the clothes of a Jedi. He pulled the robe top off and folded it like he always did and laid it next to the belt. He sat on the chair across from his bed and opened the latch-straps holding his boots tight and pulled them off one after the other and set them next to the chair. He stood and removed the robe's loose-fitting pants, folded them, and laid them next to his robe.

Mit'teem took a steady breath and looked at the clothes he had called his own for so long. He turned to the drawer and pulled a set of grey cargo pants from a drawer and put them on one leg at a time. He threaded one of his web belts through the belt loops around the waist and clasped it together below his naval. He reached across and grabbed the off-white draw string shirt and unfolded it. Putting his arms through the sleeves one by one, he pulled it over his head and adjusted it around the shape of his upper back and shoulders. He sat on the chair again and let out a sight that was prefaced by a swallow as he grabbed the boots. He clasped them on and pulled the pant cuffs down around his ankles. He stood and took a long, steady breath and let out a slow sigh as he looked around what, hours ago, had been his home.

He ran his hands through his hair and felt that his Padawan braid was gone, taken from him, like his weapon, like his past, like his life. At least they hadn't tried to kill him, he figured.

He looked across to his bed and saw his minimalist backpack. In his backpack was one extra set of clothes and a water bottle, but that was it. No weapon, no books, no data pad to study, no nothing. He slid the backpack on and looked at his room one more time.

"Goodbye," Mit'eem said to himself. The door swooshed open as he approached it. He stepped out of his room to find Plo Koon leaning against the bulkhead looking down the passageway waiting for him. Plo Koon shifted his expressionless gaze down to Mit'teem.

Mit'teem remembered this near exact situation, only it had been reversed almost six years prior. His commanding officer, Syndic Mitth'ras'safis had stood in much the same manner as Plo Koon did now. Mit'teem had made the decision to go with Plo Koon to start a new life with the Jedi in order to help his people. Now, he stood looking at Plo Koon about to leave his life with the Jedi unfulfilled and his mission failed. He shifted his red eyes over Plo Koon's mask and orange features and narrowed them slightly in a way he never would have before, a way of _lost_ respect.

"I trusted you," Mit'teem said flatly.

Mit'teem stood at the edge of the stairs that led down to the landing pads at the base of the Jedi Temple. He held all his physical belongings on his person. After a moment, he took the first step away from the Jedi Temple, his first step away from the Jedi, his first step away from the life he was sent there to live.

He had screwed up royally.

His foot landed on the first step down. He was mentally numb from the experience, but he still felt what was going on around him. As he lifted his trailing foot off the landing, he felt himself disengaging from the Force for the first time. As he took the next step down, he realized that he had been connected to the Force his entire life, and something in him was leaving. He figured that his subconscious was abiding by the restrictions imposed upon him and was letting go of the Force. He leaned his weight forward, landing on the next step. He could not feel the people around him. He landed on the next step. He could not sense what was to come. He landed on the next step. Was this what it felt like to be without the Force? He landed on the next step. For the first time in his life, he felt blind.

Master Willink stood between Plo Koon and Obiwan Kenobi one level up as they watched Mit'teem make the long walk away from the Jedi Order. He took a deep, troubled breath.

"I think we may have made a mistake, boys," he said. Master Willink wanted to blame himself for not mentoring the child better, but without having been the boy's Master, there was only so much he could have done. "If we're kicking him out," he said looking out the window, "then who is next? Ahsoka? Skywalker? Me?" The Jedi Master turned to Kenobi. "You?" They watched Mit'teem's blue form disappear beneath the horizon of the top step. The Keldor Plo Koon sighed through his mask.

"I do not know."

After the taxi ride, Mit'teem stepped out and onto the platform to a flurry of noise and wind. He squinted his eyes as he looked up and saw the traffic crisscrossing the sky. The vehicles, wind whipping past him, the honking, talking...all the commotion of the mega city that was Coruscant roared all around him. He thanked the taxi driver and paid with the little credit he had. After he closed the door, he made his way out of the packed area and through a breeze way that led into an area away from the noise and density of people.

As he walked into an open area, the environment changed, and he suddenly realized he was on the campus. He looked around and saw buildings with young adults walking to and from wearing backpacks or carrying individual data pads. He felt the breeze whip past him and blow through his closely cropped black hair. It was so peaceful. They wore clothing of many different kinds, but as he examined them, they seemed to be homogeneous in their purpose. They were there to learn and nothing more. No war, no blaster training, no Clones, no Jedi.

Mit'teem was totally taken aback. This was an entirely new battlefield.

He walked around for a long while looking at everything. The buildings were far shorter than the surrounding mega buildings that populated the rest of Coruscant. There was a large courtyard area with a fountain in its center with a beautiful display of water jetting up and flowing down over the different platforms. Mit'teem soon came to realize the campus was really quite nice. He turned his wrist under and checked his wrist chrono and saw it was about time to head to the admissions office. He cleared his throat and asked for directions.

After twenty minutes of walking, he found himself in a line at the Admissions Office with his eyes directed toward the ground. The waiting gave his mind time to resort to thinking about his expulsion only a few hours before. He furrowed his brow slightly as his mind was a flurry of mistakes, counter-arguments, justifications, examples of others' actions that had been worse than his own…the pit in his stomach was deep, and it hurt.

He was reminded that he could not feel what was around him. He could not read the people. Without the Force, he felt like he was in a cloud, unable to see past his arm's length. He was…alone.

Mit'teem realized his vision was slightly obscured by tears beginning to hang from his eyes as he looked to the ground. Before one could gather and fall down his cheek, he lifted the bottom of his shirt and pressed it into his eyes absorbing the tears. He cleared his throat and cursed to himself under his breath. He sniffled hard snorting the tears that had drained into his nose and swallowed. He tried to quiet the storm in his mind before he approached the counter.

He looked to the screen and saw his whole name spelled out. He stepped up, and the woman at the counter attempted to pronounce it, failing terribly, so without a word he crossed out two-thirds of his name simply leaving "Mit'teem" on the screen.

She finished the admission process, and he moved to the Academic Advisor's office. He waited again and was finally called in. He slung the backpack off his shoulder and set it on the ground. Sitting in the chair opposite the advisor, he adjusted it and interlocked his fingers in his lap. She brought up his file and read it.

"Mit'teem is it?" she asked. He nodded and confirmed it was. "Oh, a Senate scholarship," she said with a note of surprise. She shifted her eyes to him. "You look young for that kind of scholarship," she said. "You must be quite the prodigy."

Mit'teem cracked a smile for the first time in the day and finally shrugged his shoulders.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"What major are you looking for?" she asked.

"What do you have?" he asked. She moved the holodisplay to him. He furrowed his brow and looked at what was listed.

"You have beautiful eyes," she said. That was the first time he had heard them described as beautiful. He thanked her as he touched the screen and scrolled through the options. After a full minute of scrolling, the woman behind the desk looked a bit chuffed. "Honey, do you not know what you want to study?" she asked.

"I want to study it all," he responded softly.

"You can change your major or minor if you chose up to the end of the first semester," she said.

"I have questions," Mit'teem finally said.

"Ask away, hon."

"What is a major?" he asked, examining the screen. She looked at him strangely.

"A major is what you want to spend the majority of your time studying," she said.

"Am I safe to assume a minor is less time spent simultaneously studying another subject?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"How long is the first semester?" he asked as he continued to scroll. She laughed.

"Son, if you don't know the difference between a major and a minor or how long a semester is, why are you here?"

Mit'teem continued to scroll.

"I had no choice," he said with a deep sigh, "and I want to learn." The woman shook her head in disregarded confusion. "Will you please tell me how long a semester is?"

"It's three months, hon," he saw her say again dismissively as she looked to her side in a distraction. Finally, he stopped scrolling. He saw a + sign next to each major. He tapped on it next to the subject that piqued his interest. A list of titles that appeared to be more topics scrolled down beneath it.

"Is this a list of subordinate subjects that are associated with the overall major?" he asked.

"Yes, each one is a class," she said.

"Do they accumulate toward the accomplishment of the overall major?"

"Yes," she said, "then you earn your degree."

He saw numbers before each class. Some said 2, some said 3, and others said 4.

"What do the numbers before the class name represent?" he asked.

"Those are the hours per week you will spend in the class," she said. He glanced up to see her looking him over. "Are you sure you're supposed to be here, hon?"

"I am certain," he responded. "Please be patient with me. I have had a really bad day," he said as he continued scrolling through the classes. She looked back to him and studied him. "Is each block of classes denoting a semester?"

"Yes," she said. "Are you deducing all of this?" she asked.

"Yes," he said as he reviewed the classes under the titles that piqued his interest. Finally, he looked up to her.

"You earned that Senate scholarship, didn't you?"

"I hope so," he finally said. He looked up and drew a breath. "How do I select what I want to study?"

"Just tell me, and I will input it."

"Astrophysics as a Major and Hyperspace Dynamics as a Minor," he said flatly. She smiled and laughed. He looked up to her with his red eyes. She laughed.

"Are you sure?" she asked rhetorically. "Those are very difficult disciplines."

He considered her statement. He remembered crunching the numbers in his navigation classes on his home planet in the application process to be a navigator. He had run through the hardest parts of plotting a navigation course with five known gravitational bodies and thirty random anomalies. He reflected on the physics he had to learn and the problems he had to solve aboard Black Stall Station to prevent its power reactor from going super critical and destroying everything within two thousand meters. He recalled it all in a brief moment and shrugged his shoulders, finally looking back at her.

"I have a feeling that I've seen worse."

Now that he was enrolled, Mit'teem walked the campus without the pressure of a schedule. He was, however hungry. As he followed the directions to the building he was to live in, something called a "dorm", he saw people coming and going from a text book store. He found his way in and took in the sight. Students were picking up supplies, paper, disposable data pads, art supplies – art supplies he noticed. Excellent.

He saw a rack of what looked to be hats and approached it. The hats had bills on their fronts like to shade one's face from the sun, but it also had notches cut out of the base of the bill. He ran his finger over the notches trying to figure it out. Then, he looked to the stand the other hats were on and noticed a manikin head wearing the hat with a pair of solar shades covering its eyes. He saw that the bill was pulled down over the shades, and their frames protruded into the notches without interfering with the bill.

 _Now, that's cool,_ he thought. He had always had a problem with his eyes being visible in the dark. He usually got around that with solar shades of one kind or another. The ones on display were really good looking, though. He pulled the trapezoid shaped ones off the manikin and tried them on. They fit around his head really well, and he could see through them very clearly. He tried on one of the hats and pulled it down around the shades' frames. He frowned slightly and nodded his head as he thought it was a winning combination.

 _Nice,_ he thought as he replaced the solar shades and the hat. He noted that he would need to buy both products when he had disposable income.

He looked toward the back of the store and saw a booth with a sign that read FRESHMEN WELCOME. He walked toward it and was regaled with welcomes from the three women from behind the table. After they made their pitch and offered him great deals on books, he realized he didn't even know what he needed yet. He looked down and saw a bag that said, "Free for Freshmen!" on its face. He spread the top open with his fingers and looked inside. He saw a folded shirt, a couple of writing utensils, paper, and a few other things.

"May I have one of these?" he said in a thick, clogged voice. The happy woman gave it to him with a smile. "Thanks," he said forcing a half smile and left the book store.

Mit'teem looked at the key card in his hand and compared it to the building ahead of him. Its placard read Vindicator Hall.

 _Interesting,_ he thought, _ship names_. He walked to the building and entered the double doors. The cool air washed over him, and the scent of chlorine stung his nose. His card read Room 312. He climbed the stair case to the second floor landing, made the turn, and continued up to the third floor. He looked down the hallway and saw it was three meters wide, and there was a door every five. The door ahead of him said 302 and the one to his left said 320.

He took the left and walked down, counting the door placards down until he arrived at 312. He raised the key card to the door and nothing happened. He pressed it firmly against the reader, and still nothing happened. He saw there was a slot in the top of the reader about the side of the card. He slid the card in the slot, it beeped, he heard the door unlocked, and he pushed it open.

He looked into the room and saw it was long and narrow. There was a bed on the left, a desk on the right, and a window on the far wall. He stepped in and pushed the door to where it caught open. He looked at the bare desk for a moment and shifted his gaze to the bed to his left. It was a bare mattress with a set of sheets and a blue top bearing the University of Coruscant seal folded at its foot. He slowly reexamined the room.

Just like in the temple, he thought. Only now, it was his dorm. He set his backpack next to the bed and put the bag from the book store on the mattress. He pulled the shirt out and examined it. It was black with a white UoC design on it. It would do for now. He pulled the draw-string shirt off exposing his blue torso. He paused as he looked at the shirt and realized that it, his pants, his boots, and his backpack were the only souvenirs he had from his life in the Order.

He carefully folded the shirt and set it on the far corner of the mattress. He pulled the UoC shirt on and felt it softly hug around his shoulders, chest, and upper back. It felt and smelled brand new, just like him. He walked to the window and looked through the slatted blinds. He was taken aback by the incredible view. From his window, he could see the beauty and majesty of Coruscant. The massive mega buildings rose high into the sky, and the traffic lanes crisscrossed the areal landscape. As he stared out the window, his thoughts returned to his situation. He thought of home and his mission. He stood still as he examined the situation.

He had been sent there with a mission in mind. He had a task to perform, and failure was not popular amongst his people. He had given up his life as a navigator. Elite amongst his people he was good even amongst other navigators. That was what had drawn Plo Koon to him in the first place, his skill and connection to the Force. As he stood looking out the window, he considered what could have been. After a long moment, he blinked and shook his head in the negative.

Failure.

He turned away from the window and and sat on the mattress. He put his face in his hands and leaned forward on his elbows.

Failure.

He took a deep breath and groaned into his hands. Mit'teem sat there for a long moment as everything from his people and the Jedi to the events that brought him to this moment raced through his mind. Finally, he sighed deeply and cursed into the palms of his hands.

"Stang."

Bryandt walked by and stopped in the open doorway. He checked the room number and checked his data pad. He saw a guy sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He wore a black shirt and dark grey cargo pants. He had blue skin and short black hair that got longer toward his forehead. He checked his data pad for 312 and saw a name.

"Hey," he said, and Mit'teem jumped his head up looking at him. "You're Mit'teem?" he asked. The blue kid stood and walked to the door with a smile. He reached out his hand in greeting. Bryant noticed there was something different about his eyes, their entire shape was like a dark brown or something.

"Yes," the blue kid said as he leaned into the hand shake. Bryandt reached out and grasped his hand. The blue kid gripped Bryandt's hand very firmly.

"Whoa," Bryandt said. "Intense." They released grips, and Bryandt put his data pad to his side. "Did I pronounce your name right?" he asked. Mit'teem put his hands in his pockets and leaned his head to the side slightly. Bryandt noticed his eyes were not brown, they were a dark red with a little something behind them.

"Close, 'Mit', like your hands," he said, "and 'team' like a sports team. 'Mit'teem'," he finished.

"Excellent. We're about to go eat at the cafeteria and get dinner, do you want to come?" he asked. Mit'teem's opened his eyes wide.

"Absolutely," Mit'teem said.

Mit'teem directed his eyes to the ground as he walked with the group listening to their joyful conversation. He was staying to himself as much as he could as his mind again gravitated to the events of that morning. He just wanted to sleep, to turn his brain off, but he was really hungry.

He gathered that most of them had already been at the university for at least one semester. He was the newest of the new kids. He felt a slap on his shoulder, bringing him out of his tangled thoughts. He looked to see Bryandt looking down at him. Bryant was significantly taller and bigger than Mit'teem, but he held a happy smile and a seemingly active interest.

"So, what do you think so far?" he asked.

"Of what?" Mit'teem asked as he diverted his eyes back to the ground.

"The University, Coruscant, responsibility, being away from your parents," he said, "all of it."

Mit'teem considered everything he had just said. He had been away from his parents for eight years by this point. He equated Master Plo Koon as his father and Ahsoka Tano as his sister, but it wasn't the same as his biological family. He was comfortable with the discomfort of being on his own. He had done that plenty as a Jedi, and as for responsibility, he had commanded troopers into battle. He knew the burden of having others' lives in his hands.

He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "It's alright."

Bryandt looked at him funny.

"Come on, man, I can tell you're upset about something. Cheer up. Look at all this stuff," he said waiving his arm to his side. "You're in a whole new world, right?"

Mit'teem looked up to the golden buildings around him and the beautiful blue sky beyond.

"I guess I am," Mit'teem said. He squinted as the sun reflected off his eyes. "Whoa," Bryandt said. "Your eyes red, aren't they?" he asked. Mit'teem looked at him with a flick of the eye before he diverted his gaze back to the ground.

"Yup," he said dismissively.

"You're Pantoran, right?" Bryandt asked.

"Do you see yellow finger-paint on my face?" Mit'teem asked rhetorically. That was rude, his inner voice told him. He physically shook the attitude from his head, looked at Bryandt, and pulled a bit of a smile. "No, I'm not but it's close enough," he said with a change of tone. He needed to be sociable even if it meant he had to force it. He didn't need to make his first impression as "the asshole alien kid".

They climbed the steps to the cafeteria, and they lined up at the door. Mit'teem looked around at the surrounding buildings and plots of green trees. The cool wind blew past him. The warm sun beat down on him, warming his shirt. He took it in and realized that it was nice. He glanced around and could tell the humans were looking at him funny.

 _Great_ , he thought. _Was that going to be a thing, Specism?_ He noticed Bryandt was watching him notice the people looking at him.

The line moved forward, and he watched the other students pull their IDs and scan them across a reader attached to a turnstile. He pulled his from his pocket and scanned it in a similar fashion. The red indicator stayed red, and the bar on the turnstile stopped him from proceeding. He replayed what he had just seen work in his mind and did it again. The indicator stayed red. He looked to the woman standing next to the turnstile.

"What am I doing wrong?" he asked. She looked at him with a smile and asked for his card. She examined it and flicked a small tab of plastic on its side.

"This is a new card, isn't it?" she asked. She pulled the tab, and a long strip of clear protective plastic came off the edge of the card. She scanned it, and the red light turned green. She handed it back to him, and he took it with a forced smile.

"Thanks," he said and pushed through the turnstile. As he rounded the cashier, he looked at the buffet and was astonished.

"Oh, my god," he said. Mit'teem could not believe what he saw. He quickly counted five kinds of meat, both white and dark, pasta, leafed salad, vegetables, and fruits! Is this how college kids ate? Mit'teem watched Bryandt and mimicked what he did. He picked up a tray and plate and grabbed silverware. He approached the platters of food.

"Bryandt," Mit'teem asked. "Do I get anything or specific things?"

"It's a buffet. You can get anything you want," Bryandt said. An unconscious smile stretched broadly across Mit'teem's face. He grabbed the set of tongs and clicked them together not knowing what to get first.

Mit'teem picked up slices of a white meat and laid them on the plate. Then the thigh and leg of what looked like some sort of bird, then a large spoonful of some sort of pasta salad, then he filled a bowl full of mix of multicolored fruit. He could not believe he could get such a feast! He moved to a beverage bar and pulled a glass. As he felt it in his hand, he realized it was _real_ glass, not plastoid. This was all so strange!

He looked at the dispensers. There were carbonated beverages, teas, water, and…he looked closer…milk?! There was milk here?! College kids got all of this, and the troopers of the Grand Army of the Republic got recycled water and rations?

 _Screw it,_ he thought as he pressed the glass onto the activation lever and saw a stream of blue milk fill his glass. This was his new life.

After his tray was full, he looked around the dining room and saw the group he had walked to the cafeteria. Mit'teem sat at the end of the table a few seats away from everyone else and examined his food. He picked the fork and knife up off the tray and began pulling the meat apart. He took a mouthful of the meat and chewed once. He closed his eyes and absorbed the flavor. He flicked his black eyebrows and looked back at the food. He chewed a few more times. He could not believe it.

"This is so freaking good," he said in a language no one at the table spoke. It blew his mind that the Grand Army had to eat what it did while students ate this well. He considered the idea and figured it made sense. There were tens of millions of mouths to feed in the Army. There must have been fewer than a fifty-thousand here. It was still strange to him, though. He inhaled the rest of his meal in no time.

Bryandt looked over to the blue kid, "Mit'teem", and saw him scooping every last thing off his plate as he sat by himself several seats down from the rest of the students. Mit'teem looked up and scanned the room as he chewed but then diverted his attention back down to the plate in front of him. He sat hunched over the tray with a fork in his right hand and his left resting in his lap. Bryandt observed that Mit'teem was a little shorter than normal, but he was clearly lean and light. He had a closely cropped hair cut, short in the back and a little longer in the front. Had it had been a couple weeks earlier, Bryandt figured the sides might have been buzzed against his scalp. He noticed that as the light hit his black hair, it seemed to shimmer a deep blue. The kid's jaw muscle flexed as he chewed a few more times and looked around with those red eyes of his before picking up his glass of milk and swallowing its contents one big gulp at a time.

"Interesting," Bryandt said to himself.

Mit'teem looked to the rest of the kids and saw them beginning to get up and take their trays to a turn-in center. He downed the rest of his milk and savored the taste before he piled his napkin, utensils, and glasses back onto the tray. He stood and maneuvered himself out of the round seat with ease.

As he walked in the same direction as everyone else, he saw a news holovid displaying up on the wall and slowly came to a stop. It was news on the war.

 _"The peaceful world of Mandalore announces it decision whether to enter the Galactic Civil War, now popularly known as the Clone War,"_ the announce-like voice said over the images of what appeared to be Mandalorian diplomats, political leaders, and guards fill the screen.

"Mandalor?" Mit'teem muttered to himself. While they had an incredible history of a warrior society, they had long since gone soft. The image shifted to a woman wearing a headdress of some sort. She spoke with her hands outstretched as if addressing a large crowd.

"We are an evolved society of Pacifism. We no longer believe that violence solves problems," she said in an orator's tone, "the Mandalorian people will never return to the savage warrior-ways of the past." Mit'teem shook his head slightly.

"And so is the first step to the fall of Mandalor," he said under his breath. Mit'teem shook his head as narrator struck up again.

 _"Dutchess Satine Kryze vowed a state of neutrality in the galaxy's civil war adding that Mandalor no longer had a warrior class to offer to the conflict,"_ the voice said.

As Brayndt gathered his plate, napkins, and glass onto the tray, looked over and saw Mit'teem standing absolutely still as he watched the holo display. He walked over and heard the voice on the holo display.

 _"This next one goes out to the 224th Mud Jumpers,"_ he heard. He watched the blue kid closely as he approached. He was standing uncommonly still. Bryandt thought he heard the blue kid say something under his breath, but he didn't quite catch it. He replayed it in his mind and realized he said, "hey, guys."

Before Bryandt broke into the blue kid's field of view, he saw the rectangular shape of his eyes watching the broadcast with a small, honest smile before he shifted his gaze to Bryandt.

"Interesting stuff, huh?" Bryandt asked. The blue kid seemed to force a smile.

"Yeah. Those clones are pretty cool," he said. "They're a warrior's Warrior." They walked to the turn-in rack for the trays. He watched Mit'teem effortlessly slide his tray into one of the rotating racks. Mit'teem was familiar with the tray and rack system. Bryandt quickly examined the blue kid's build as they walked toward the exit. Bryandt could not see Mit'teem's lower body, but he could see his musculature move beneath the UoC short sleeve shirt he wore. His neck was as wide as his jaw, his upper back had more mass than average, and his shoulders had shape. His arms and mid back looked toned and built for pulling, throwing, or climbing. Things began to fall into place quickly.

"You're an athlete aren't you?" he asked. "What sports do you play?" he asked. Mit'teem looked a little surprised by the question.

"Gymnastics," he said and looked over his shoulder. "Why?"

"You look it," Bryandt said. "What are you studying?" he asked.

"Astrophysics and hyperspace," he said. Bryandt let out a whistle.

"All or nothing, huh?" he asked. Mit'teem cocked his head and slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess," he said softly. A long moment passed as they walked back to the dorm, Mit'teem looking at the ground.

"How was the food? Was it your first meal here?" he asked. Mit'teem looked up with a smile.

"It was great," he said with satisfaction. "I haven't eaten that well in a while."

Another long moment passed as Bryandt watched Mit'teem from the corner of his eye. Mit'teem walked silently and to himself with his hands in his pockets.

"You were in the army, weren't you?" Bryandt said breaking the silence. Mit'teem furrowed his brow and shot him a surprised look.

"What?" he asked. Bryandt watched him with an interrogating look.

"The firm handshake, your posture, build, your familiarity with the rack system, your contentness with not having to talk, the way you wolfed down that food like you haven't eaten in weeks," he rattled off, "the look in your eyes."

"What, red eyes?" he asked. Bryandt laughed once.

"No, but that is pretty cool." Bryandt said. Mit'teem pulled a smile. The other padawans never made a big deal about it.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Bryandt said. "It's exotic."

Mit'teem laughed once and shook his head in the negative.

"It usually causes more problems than its worth."

"I saw you noticing people looking at you earlier," Bryandt said. "Don't worry about them." He glanced to Bryandt.

"Clearly I'm different here," Mit'teem said.

"They're looking at you because you're exotic," he said. Mit'teem furrowed his brow and looked at Bryandt for a second.

"Exotic?" he asked.

"Yeah. Dark blue skin, black hair that does this weird blue thing in the sunlight, and red eyes," he said. Mit'teem pulled a half smile and exhaled a slight laugh.

"Really?" he asked. "Well, I'm probably the only one like me here," he said. Before Bryandt could ask about that, Mit'teem spoke again. "So, what about my eyes says, 'army'?"

"My brother joined, and when he came back after a year, he had a different look in his eye. Distant, focused. Like you," he said.

Mit'teem flicked his eyebrows at the comment. He had noticed that some Jedi had a look in their eye after they had come back from combat for the first time, and those who had not seen combat did not share that look. That was fascinating.

"It's a rough life," he finally said and looked at the human. "What are you studying?"

"Science and language," Bryandt said. Mit'teem nodded his head. He wondered if he could add language to his course load.

"What languages?" he asked.

"Hutese, Corellian, Jafi'ese and a few others," he said. "It's more a study of the meanings behind words, sub-languages, slang, things like that."

Mit'teem considered if Bryandt had heard him when he cursed to himself in his dorm room or in the cafeteria for that matter.

"Did you hear me speak another language earlier?" he asked. Bryandt smiled.

"I was going to ask you about that. I heard you say something in the cafeteria, but I didn't understand it."

"That's alright," Mit'teem said with a tiny, dismissive waive of his hand. "There's a lot going on with it. If I ever have to _really_ speak it again, I think I'll have to relearn it."

"Which one is it?" Bryandt asked. Mit'teem pulled a half smile.

"If you ever hear me speak it again, I'll let you figure it out," he said with a flash of his red eye to Bryandt.

"Oh, mysterious blue army guy who speaks weird languages, huh?" Bryandt asked. Mit'teem laughed for the first time in the entire day. He considered elaborating on where he was from for a moment and figured, what the hell? Why not?

"I am from the Unknown Regions," he said with his left eyebrow raised and a long half smile exposing his pointed canine teeth. "I have to keep up the 'mysterious' reputation," he said, giving Bryandt a sideways look.

Bryandt made a quick examination of the blue kid's eyes as he looked at him with a sideways look. His irises were a slightly lighter shade of red, more like a crimson, than the rest.

 _How strange,_ he observed. _The confidence in this kid!_ He laughed in response.

"Okay, linguist," the blue kid said. "I'll trade you. Earlier in my room, before you walked by, did you catch what I said?" he asked. Bryandt referenced his memory.

"I think so," he said. "Sting?"

"Close. I said, 'stang'. That's slang in my language for fuck."

"Stang?" Bryandt repeated.

"Yeah. So, what are a few words for 'good' or 'cool' used around here?" the blue kid asked. Bryandt angled his head back and took a breath. He had to think about that one.

"Frun'deir," he said with a slight roll of the 'r', "chunaa is another," he said then he snapped his finger. "Bo'caano," he said as he turned to the blue kid. "Bo'caano is a good one."

"Bo'c _aa_ no?" Mit'teem asked. He repeated it again in Bryandt's accent.

"Mit'teem isn't your whole name, is it?" Bryandt asked.

"No, it's not."

"How do you pronounce it?" Bryandt asked. Mit'teem took a long, considering moment as they walked several more steps before he responded.

"Alright, linguist," he said, almost in a challenging manner, "do you want to try my whole name?" he asked. Bryandt smiled.

"Let's hear it," he said. Mit'teem pronounced it. He began it through the front of his mouth, then rolled the "r" and opened his tongue through the "w" and with a clipped breath finished the vowels with an articulation through the front of his mouth.

Bryandt recoiled his head at the sound of his whole name.

"Really?" he asked. "Say it again?" The blue kid did. He said it in a sharp, clipped accent. Bryandt attempted to repeat it but failed. Mit'teem repeated it again, and Bryandt slowly articulated it. He could tell he was not getting the roll of the 'r' or the accent right. Mit'teem laughed once and smiled and as they came to as top in front of the dorm.

"Good, linguist," he said, "that was one of the better tries I have heard, but _not_ close enough." Bryant watched the blue kid look him over with those red eyes. "You gave me your read, so it's only fair I give you mine," he said. Bryandt was interested. He smiled and put his arms in his pockets, leaning his head back slightly in a _let's hear it_ motion. With a flick of Mit'teem's head and a glance of his eyes to Bryandt's shoulders and upper back, he began. "You're an athlete of some kind. Seeing how you can rapidly size up someone's athleticism, and probably perform a threat assessment of them, I'd guess you're a fighter of some kind." He flicked his own left ear signifying that he recognized Bryandt's slightly cauliflowered ear. "I would guess a collegiate wrestler and whatever else comes with that," he said. "You're probably sponsored here. From your accent, I can tell you have Corellian influence," he said. Bryandt nodded his head slightly as Mit'teem continued. "You look like you've been here a while, and since you have a data pad with new students on it, I would have to say you're probably in charge of the dorm to some degree," Mit'teem finished with a smile. "How's that?"

"You're good," Bryandt said. "What is _your_ threat assessment of _me_?"

"You're no threat," Mit'teem said without hesitation. Bryandt widened his smile.

"You know, we could always go to the mat and see," he said.

"We could," Mit'teem said. Bryandt observed the response was without brash or bluster. It was honest. He was impressed.

"I'm surprised the Army let you go," he said. Mit'teem shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess it was time."

"Fair enough," he said with an out stretched hand. "Mit'teem, right?"

Mit'teem smiled broadly and shook his hand with the strong, commanding grip.

"Close enough," he said as they released grips. Mit'teem pulled his key card from his pocket and ran his fingers over the brass contacts on its sides. "Thanks for including me. Today was a really hard day. I appreciate it." He took a deep breath. "I needed it," he said with an honest and upward tone.

Bryandt smiled.

"It's good to have you, Mit'teem. Welcome to the University of Coruscant."

"Welcome to the University of Coruscant," Mit'teem said to himself as he shot through the memory in an instant. He ran his thumbs over the draw strings and fabric. It had only been three semesters, a year and a half, but he felt like he had lived a life time.

There was no way the shirt would fit now. He was another six centimeters taller, a lot more muscular, and nine kilos heavier. He set the shirt down in his drawer and slid it shut. He briefly wondered where he would be in another year and a half, where his life would take him.


	13. Face Your Demons

Face Your Demons

"Trust in your friends, and they'll have reason to trust in you."

The Jedi padawan wiped his armored hand across his mouth, smearing a mouth full of blood from left to right across his face. There was a deep boom as one of the mammoth projectiles' sonic booms reached them. The padawan knew that the projectile was only a few seconds from impact now. It was paradoxical, he thought. The projectile was supersonic, but its sonic boom reached them before the much faster projectile. He, however understood. The shells were being fired from a great range, so they followed an arching ballistic flight path. It was closing on them from above as opposed from the side like a blaster bolt.

"Take cover!" he yelled. He reached out with the Force to find the projectile.

He felt it. It was so fast. It was so heavy. It must have been forty centimeters in diameter and weighed over a ton! He could not grip it, but he could push it. With all his effort, he pushed on the projectile's conically shaped face and directed it to their side away from anyone. In an instant, the massive projectile impacted the ground with a tremendous ferocity.

It felt as if the entire surface of Jefi shook. A massive V-shaped geyser of rock and mud fired fifty meters into the air with a deafening explosion.

"Take cover!" the Clone commander yelled. Their white armor was caked with mud. The Jedi Padawan turned his face as the mud and rock fell on them.

They had to silence those guns, but they were so far away.

"Gray!" he yelled. "Where is that close air support?!"

The clone commander turned to him and yelled over the chaos around them.

"They say it's ten minutes out!"

They didn't have ten minutes, the Padawan realized. Another supersonic boom announced over their heads.

"Go! Go! Go! Go!" he heard one clone or another yell before the tremendous impact of the next round. The projectile impacted directly ahead of their AT-TE walker blasting it into the air and somersaulting over backward. Clones around the walker were tossed into the air like dolls. The padawan gritted his teeth as more mud and stung his face and glanced off his armor.

In ten minutes, they would all be dead.

"Gray!" he shouted. The clone Commander looked to him. "Can you raise the fleet?!"

"That's going outside the chain of command, sir!" the clone said.

 _Good soldiers follow orders,_ the Padawan thought. If there was one flaw in the clones, it was that they strictly followed orders.

"If we don't silence these guns," he shouted, "then we're all dead, Commander! Raise the fleet _NOW!_ " Another sonic boom thundered over the air. He reached out with the Force, but it was too late. The projectile impacted a hundred yards to his left blasting him into the air, carving a twenty-five meter wide and ten meter deep hole in the ground. He felt the pain of his men as he tumbled through the air. His ears rang as he splashed in the mud with a heavy impact and rolled a stop.

His earing was deadened and rang with a loud whine. He felt heat lick his face through the mud. The surrounding noises were muffled as he tried to regain his vision. He thought he heard voices as he got his hands underneath him. He felt the heat again as he pressed himself out of the mud. He looked up to see a downed LA-AT burning only twenty yards from him. He focused his vision on the landing craft and saw not just flames flashing out from the breaks in its armor and windows but the white armor of troopers as they tried to escape the burning craft.

The muffled voices he heard were yells and screams of clones.

"Commander!" he heard them yell. "Commander, please!" The padawan lifted himself enough to put a foot under himself and straighten his torso. He drew his lightsaber and tried to stand and run to the craft, but he unexpectedly fell. He tried again, and he fell face down in the mud again. His legs were not responding.

"Commander! Someone, help us!" he heard them scream. He rolled onto his side and pressed himself up onto his outstretched arms. The ground shook again as another massive shell threw tons of stone, dirt, and mud into the air. Gritting his bloody teeth, he stomped a numb foot beneath him and straightened his torso. He raised his arms and dug into the Force. He felt the armor and gripped it with his mind. He yelled as he pulled against the armor, but it was so strong. He screamed as he pulled with all his might.

 _"_ _Help us!"_ they screamed as they burned. His vision went black.

He floated in a cold darkness.

 _Commander!_ he heard echo through his ears.

 _It hurts!_ he heard.

 _Help us!_ He turned and looked furiously to find them but saw nothing, only the cold, empty blackness.

 _You're a Jedi!_ he heard a clone shout. _Why did you leave us?!_ another clone's voice said.

"I'm sorry," he said. He felt the light touch of fingers running down his legs. He looked down at his bare, blue body and saw hands reaching for him. They turned into burned, bloodied and mutilated hands and forearms. The hands wrapped their charred and bloodied fingers around his ankles, his calves, his knees, and thighs.

"I'm sorry," he said with tears in his eyes. They tightened their grip, fingers piercing his skin into his legs, gripping individual muscles and bones.

 _YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HELP US!_ the voices pleaded.

He screamed in pain.

.

Ashha looked at Mit'teem as he stood peering out the window in the darkness of the night. He had woken up again from a nightmare. He had yelled in his sleep. His eyes had glowed with an uncommon brightness, its red light breaking from between his eyelids as he twitched and mumbled He didn't snore like others she had heard before, it was more like the predatory growl of a jungle cat. It was fearsome and aggressive. Now, he stood still and stoic. She drew her eyes over him. The golden light of Coruscant poured over his dark blue body with ease. Every line was sharp, every distinction was bold. She reflected that he was so sensitive, so empathetic. He had been painful at first, but he was gentle. She wanted to adapt.

"Was it another nightmare?" she asked as she looked at him.

"Yes," he said through a thick voice. "It was."

"What was it?" she asked. He stood still staring out window but not seeing through his eyes. His vision instead was in his mind as he recalled.

"I can still hear them," he said. She saw that he stood like a statue, his blue body still and unflinching. His black hair slicked back over his head. "I can still feel them," he said. A long pause followed as he was silent. Then he took a long, slow breath and whispered in the exhale. "I can still taste their blood." He stood there another long minute still in his mind. "All I want to do is go home."

"Why can't you go visit?" He continued to stare out the window at the buildings of Coruscant.

"It's too far," he said. "It's too dangerous."

"Where? The outer rim?" she asked. "Why is it dangerous?"

"The Unknown Regions. It takes a special skill to navigate there," he paused and then whispered to himself, "but I don't know if I have it anymore." She watched him carefully as he was clearly in deep thought. After a moment, he broke back into the present and glanced at her. "I'm sorry."

She watched him, looking at his every muscle as the light cast over him.

His physique had changed over the past three, almost four semesters from that of a young gymnast to a skilled and muscled athlete. His shoulders had gotten broad, and his chest and back thick and detailed. His waist had gotten thinner...and _his legs_... she thought to herself... _his legs_. She lusted over what he did with those legs.

She had heard him say words, names in his sleep: Gray, Cody, Sledge. Wildcard.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"What?" he asked with a slight turn of his head.

"You say names in your sleep like Gray and Wildcard," she said from the bed. She saw his muscles ripple against the light as he took a deep breath and nodded his head.

He had been talking in his sleep. At this rate, it was going to be difficult to keep his secret. Someone was going to figure it out if he won't outright say it in his sleep. He continued to peer out the window.

"They were my men," he said in a quiet tone. "There were so many I couldn't save."

"What happened?" she asked. He saw it. He felt it. He saw them reaching for him, for their leader, for their "Jedi". The skin and flesh of their faces melting away like wax exposing the red bone of their skulls as they reached for him. Tattered stumps flailing as Geonosians ripped them apart.

"I couldn't save them," he repeated only to himself.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"It was bad," he said. "You don't want to know," he said, saving her from the truth and reality of war. Ashha had come from a rich and well off family on a world free of the war. She didn't want to know what he carried with him. He considered that perhaps it was instead a selfish concern. She made him feel so good physically, intellectually, and mentally that he might scare her away if he really told her what he dreamed about.

"Why do you growl?" she asked. He pulled a slight smile and let out a single chuff of a laugh. He turned his head slightly and looked at her through the corner of his eye.

"I do that?" he asked. She looked at him with wanting eyes. "Do you like it?" he asked. He looked at her and let out a breathy growl. She smiled in fascination.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said turning back to the window. "It's just something I can do," he said with a smile. She patted the bed.

"I want you to lay back and forget about whatever it is that is bothering you," she said. Mit'teem smiled.

"I don't know if I can forget about everything, but I can certainly lay back," he said.

.

The next day, Mit'teem sat on the bench waiting for the tailor to arrive. He was there to set up the orbital jump suit tailor kits before Dramin arrived. As he waited for the tailor to arrive, he pulled his data pad from his pocket and opened the "Conflict in a Moment" page. He was paying close attention to the progress of the war. He brought up the page and read its title _Conflict on Onderon!_

"Oh, wow," he said. "Onderon?" He turned the volume up barely audible and played the story. The flurry of blaster fire and the signature glow of lightsabers filled the screen.

"Assisting the indigenous army of Onderon, Generals Obiwan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker..." Mit'teem rolled his eyes at the mention of Skywalker, "...were able to lead a counter offensive freeing the world from the clutches of the Confederacy of Independent Systems."

He shook his head watching the video. " _En-cha'_ Anakin Skywalker," he mumbled

to himself.

"With the victory at Onderon, another key world joins the Galactic Republic!" it said.

"Good morning, sir," a voice said getting his attention. Mit'teem put his data pad back in his pocket and stood. "How may I help you?"

"I scheduled a jump suit fitting today," he said. The man smiled and referenced his data pad.

"I will be right back," he said as he stepped around the corner for the moment. Mit'teem looked around the waiting room as the man did his thing. Finally, he returned with two large suitcases. Mit'teem smiled as he read the text on the surface them. They said, "Orbital Jump Suit Mark5 Mod8 Tailor Kit – TAILOR ONLY".

"Excellent," Mit'teem said. The man hefted each up onto the counter and tapped a command into his pad.

"If I can get you to sign here, sir everything will be in order." Mit'teem did and handed the pad back to the man. "Will you need assistance, sir?" the man asked as he put the cases containing each suit on the desk. Mit'teem grabbed the handles and pulled them off the desk with ease.

"No, sir. I will be sure to ask if we do."

.

Dramin stood as the Mit'teem locked the chest piece of the suit onto the black under piece around him.

"This is already fitting better," Dramin said. Mit'teem smiled as he grabbed the next piece.

"Good. This is the time to make it fit as best as possible." Mit'teem attached the piece to his under suit and picked up the next. "I've been meaning to ask you something," Mit'teem asked as he examined the piece of armor in his hand. "Do you," he uncommonly paused. Dramin looked to Mit'teem saw he was messing around with the armor. "Do you have nightmares?" he asked without makine eye contact with Dramin.

"Yeah," Dramin said. "About the war?" he asked. Mit'teem let out a sigh.

"Yeah," he finally said.

"I do," Dramin responded. He could tell Mit'teem did, too. Mit'teem quit playing with the armor and put the piece around Dramin's right upper arm.

"What are they like?" he asked quietly.

"Mainly they're of when I was in the camps," Dramin said. "You?"

Mit'teem clicked the pieces together and reached for the next piece.

"It's in the field. Some of the guys were hurt really bad, and I see it over and over again." Dramin watched Mit'teem as he arranged the next piece on Dramin's other upper arm. "I watched some of them die," Mit'teem said.

"Yeah, me too," Dramin said. "Is it bad?" he asked. Mit'teem flicked it into place and picked the large, heavy back piece up and arranged it on Dramin's back.

"Yeah. I mean, it's not as bad as it used to be, but," he said, pausing as he aligned the piece with Dramin's back.

"Do you wake Ashha up?" Dramin interrupted. Mit'teem laughed.

"A few times now."

"You're not alone, pal," Dramin said. Mit'teem smiled largely.

"Oh yeah?" he asked with a lightened tone.

"I've freaked Salem'a out a few times," Dramin said. Mit'teem laughed.

"Yeah, me too," he said as he locked the clips down atop his shoulders. "Do you think they talk to each other?" he asked.

"Oh, I know they do," Dramin said. "They're girls. They know everything about us." They both laughed. Mit'teem tapped his temple.

"Except what's up here."

"It's funny, because Salem'a doesn't know I speak Twi'leki," Dramin said. Mit'teem laughed.

"Uh-oh. So you know all kinds of extra things about me, huh?"

"Too many," Dramin said. "You would be surprised the way they talk about us," Dramin said. Mit'teem rolled his eyes.

"God," he muttered.

"Ashha is pretty descriptive," Dramin said. Mit'teem shook his head.

"Gross."

"You're telling me. I have to sit there acting like I don't understand what they're saying," he said.

"Oh, I'm sure," Mit'teem responded with a sideways look. "Do they have pet names for us, too?"

"Yes," he said. Mit'teem shook his head.

"I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not." Dramin laughed a few times before he let his smile fade.

"One of my recurring nightmares, uh," he paused as he articulated it for the first time, "that haunted me for a while, actually kept Salem'a and I from getting intimate with each other."

Mit'teem slowly loosened the gauntlet as he listened.

"Yeah? How was that?" Mit'teem asked as he fitted the gauntlet around Dramin's left forearm. Dramin flashed eye contact with Mit'teem as he recalled.

"When we were moved from camp to camp, we were always packed together, front to back, like cattle in a train car. We were pressed so tightly together you could feel the heartbeat of the guy behind you. As a result, I kind of associated physical contact with force," he said. Mit'teem arranged the next piece of armor and looked up.

"Really?" he asked. "So what about grappling?"

"That's different," Dramin said.

"How?"

Dramin chewed on his lip as he considered the difference.

"I guess, because it's fighting," Dramin said as he quantified it. "I guess it's because I know I can resist. I know I can win."

Mit'teem nodded at the idea.

"I find grappling intimate," Mit'teem said as he loosened the next gauntlet. "It's not sexual, but it's definitely its own thing."

"In the camps, we got really good at defeating just about any punishment they gave to us. Lash, cold cells, dehydration, hunger, we all got pretty resilient. We had our little micro protests we did to get one over on the guards." He paused as he looked at his hands and messed around with the black under glove over his hands. "When they realized their standard punishments weren't having the desired effects, the Belugans began using our sexual prowess as a weapon against us," he said.

"Really?" Mit'teem asked. Dramin immediately questioned if he should have gone down that road. "Stang," Mit'teem said. "I saw something similar on Ryloth." Mit'teem said as he picked up the armored gloves and handed them to Dramin. "It was planet of slaves. The slave masters did about anything to maintain obedience, including rape." Dramin nodded as he pulled the gloves on. Mit'teem spoke again, "They did something similar, huh?" he asked quietly. Dramin flashed his golden eyes at him as he pulled on the glove. After a long silence, Dramin spoke again.

"That's why it was so difficult. The only association I had with that was bad."

"Yeah," Mit'teem nodded as he picked up the control pack. "I'm really sorry to hear that," he said. "My situation was just different," he said. "I just didn't have the opportunity to be intimate with anyone before I got here," he said thinking back to the Jedi's bar against attachment. "I didn't know what I was going to miss," he said under his breath. Dramin shifted his mood and smiled looking at Mit'teem.

"That good, huh?" he asked. Mit'teem returned the smile and furrowed his brow.

"Oh, my god, yes," he said. "I didn't know what the hell was going on at first." Dramin laughed.

"Really?" he asked unbelievingly. "You were a ruk when you got here?" he asked. Mit'teem furrowed his brow in response.

"Where I came from, attachment was really frowned upon. Having a sexual relationship was about the worst infraction possible."

Dramin shot him a confused look.

"Why?" he asked. Mit'teem shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"It's a religious thing, I guess," Mit'teem said. "But I'm glad I'm out of that religion," Mit'teem said emphatically. "Plus I'm not all that old, either."

Dramin examined him, considering his age for the first time.

"How old are you?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem smiled.

"I'll tell you some time," he said. He continued to assemble Dramin's armor. "But yeah," he said softly, "I'm having a hard time getting past the nightmares."

"Have you told Ashha what they're about?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem furrowed his brow and shook his head in the negative.

"Heck no," Mit'teem said as he loosened the glove. "I don't think she wants to hear about people burning to death or being ripped to pieces," he said looking at the glove, "or the screams," he said softly. Dramin watched Mit'teem fight with it in his mind. He had seen the look before.

"I know," Dramin said. Mit'teem barred his teeth and shook his head slightly.

"I can still see them, man. I can see them getting their arms and legs ripped off. I see the flesh melting off their sculls," he said. Mit'teem looked up at him and spoke through clenched teeth in frustration. "I can still taste their blood, Dramin. I can smell them burning, and there wasn't a freaking thing I could do about it. I had to watch them die," he said softly as he fumbled with the grieve of armor.

Dramin watched Mit'teem not really able to say anything substantive or comforting. He knew the feeling. He knew the situation, there just wasn't much to say.

"I know."

Mit'teem collected himself and looked up to Dramin.

"Is it just me or is this something that you go through?"

"It's just something _we_ go through," Dramin said. "Guys like you and me, we carry a lot around with us. We've done things and seen things a lot of other people never will." He flicked his eye brows. "I don't know about you, but I'm a killer, and I have to live with that. I've seen my own people murdered, raped, carted away to their deaths," he said, "and I carry all that with me." He traced the nail-shaped tattoos under his eyes and tilted his neck back exposing one of the dark tattoos on his purple neck. "I carry the marks on my body to remind me."

Mit'teem understood and nodded before he looked away.

"I just," he said and hesitated. "I just don't want to relive it like I do." Mit'teem spoke with a softness Dramin rarely heard.

"I know. It's hard."

"How do you live with it?" Mit'teem asked. Dramin clenched his teeth as he considered it.

"I value my demons. You said it best before," he said. Mit'teem looked up. "The lessons you learn are most important. The demons I live with are the roots of my lessons."

"Really?" he asked with a glance over Dramin's features.

"Yeah. They're the reminders. They remind me when I close my eyes. Sometimes they remind me in dreams. Sometimes I hear them when it's quiet."

Mit'teem nodded as he chewed on the statement.

"They're allies," Mit'teem said, having never considered them as an asset before.

"It also helps me remember my friends who never got to come home," Dramin said with an uparched eyebrow and in a slightly lighter tone. Mit'teem nodded as he adjusted Dramin's chest piece.

"I just don't like reliving it, man."

Dramin put his hand on Mit'teem's shoulder, and Mit'teem looked to him.

"It's alright, man," he said. "We're making good memories now."

Mit'teem took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah, we are," he said and looked back up to Dramin with a smile. "You're going to like this one," he said with a slap to Dramin's armor. He turned and picked up the neck piece and wrapped it around Dramin's neck.

"You sure?" Dramin asked. "The simulations really aren't all they're cracked up to be." Mit'teem furrowed his brow and laughed.

"Holo sims are one thing," he said as he began to write the armor measurements down. "But doing it for real will blow your mind."

"It had better," Dramin said. "At least I'll get a cool suit out of it."

"Totally cool," Mit'teem said. "You never know when an orbital jump suit might come in handy."

After writing the measurements displayed at the joints of the greaves, the shoulders, the hips, knees, and the other joints, Mit'teem stepped back and looked at Dramin standing tall in the dark grey suit. Mit'teem nodded.

"You make it look good," he said. "Alright, move around. Test your range of motion and make sure noting is binding anywhere. You want it to feel firm but not restricting."

Dramin crossed his arms over his chest, pulled his shoulder blades back, circled his arms around his sides, and squatted a few times.

"Try to squat jump, see how that feels," Mit'teem said. Dramin squatted and drew his arms behind his back. Dramin looked to the overhanging ceiling.

"I don't want to hit the overhead," he said. Mit'teem looked tothe ceiling that must have been three meters high. He furrowed his brow and shot Dramin a disbelieving look.

"There's no way you can jump that high," he said. Dramin looked to the ceiling.

"I've never tried to jump wearing a twenty kilo suit before."

"I doubt it," Mit'teem said. Dramin glanced to the ceiling and then back to him.

"What do you bet I can?" he asked.

"Dinner," Mit'teem responded confidently. Dramin smiled slightly and nodded.

"Deal." He squatted a couple of times swinging his arms back and forth keeping himself in balance. Finally, he threw his arms forward and over his head as he fired his legs.

Dramin leapt off the ground with a straight back and legs, his arms to his sides, and his head looking straight up. His feet cleared his entire height in half a second. Mit'teem stepped back as Dramin shot into the air straight and narrow like an armored dart.

"Un'cha-stang!" Mit'teem said. Dramin lifted an arm and cushioned himself against the ceiling and came back down. He landed in a crouch with a heavy boom! Mit'teem stood back amazed as Dramin stood back up. Mit'teem just stared at Dramin with a shocked look.

"No way," he said. "You have never done that before." Dramin winked at him.

 _"_ _E'uuna,"_ Dramin said in Sy Bisti. _"Never show your full hand until you're ready."_ Mit'teem smiled and shook his head.

"E'chu'ta."

.

Dramin cut into the soft gray meat of the second steak with his knife and fork. He had already cleaned up the first steak dinner and was starting the second.

"What meat did you say this was?" he asked.

"Toydarian ox," Mit'teem said, having already finished his meal. "It's good, isn't it?"

"It's really good," Dramin confirmed. Mit'teem was still perplexed.

"So, tell me, are all Kage males as strong as you?" he asked. Dramin furrowed his eye brows as he shook his head in the negative.

"No." He pointed toward the plate with his knife as he packed the food into his cheeks so he could speak. "I'm almost twice as strong here as I was back home." He finished chewing and swallowed. "It's been three years since I've been home, so I don't know how much it's changed, but when I was there last, we did what we could. We had better food in the warrior corps than in the camps, but nothings like here." He cut another piece and loaded it onto his fork. "Here, I feel like I can actually achieve my potential."

Mit'teem nodded.

"How much can you perform with what you have available here?" Dramin looked at Mit'teem through squinted eyes and thought as he chewed. He loaded the potatoes and beans onto the fork and shoved them into his mouth. He wobbled his head back and forth as he chewed and looked around in his mind. Finally he swallowed.

"Probably twice the performance," he said and cut another piece of the steak.

"If you guys were always waging guerrilla warfare, I guess you never had experience with air support or other supporting arms, did you?"

"What?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem smiled.

"I guess not." Dramin grunted a laugh.

"I know what it is, but no, we were strictly a ground force. We didn't even have vehicles. We rode on Methladons."

"What are those?" Mit'teem asked. Dramin attempted to formulate a way to describe the massive creatures.

"Well," he said as he cut another piece, "they're big, long animals. Their bodies are segmented, and they typically have fifty legs are each side. We could usually put twenty warriors on each," he said, "and they're fast," he said with an emphasized flash of his eyes. He loaded his fork with potatoes, the vegetables, and a piece of ox.

" _Bo'caano_ ," Mit'teem said. He watched Dramin manipulate the fork and knife. Overall Dramin was a very methodic, refined guy, but every once in a while, features of the savage warrior broke the surface. In this instance, he held the fork and knife like you would a combat knife as opposed to a pencil. Mit'teem didn't blame him, nor would be criticize him…

Mit'teem smiled…but sure he would.

"Holding that fork like a Tuskan," he said. Dramin paused and looked at his hand.

"What?" he asked. Mit'teem picked up his fork and knife and held them. Dramin saw he held the utensils in each hand with his index fingers on their backs.

"Do you recognize what kind of grip this is?" Mit'teem asked. Dramin examined it for a second and then nodded.

"The reverse grip of a blade?" he asked as he looked up to Mit'teem's smile.

"Exactly," Mit'teem said. Dramin maneuvered the fork and knife in his hands and examined them. "Now, curved tines down with the fork, and edge down with the knife." Dramin arranged them in his hands and tried to cut the steak again. He raised the ends of his eyebrows.

"Oh," he said, "this is how you're supposed to use these?" he asked. Mit'teem laughed.

"The Kage Warrior learns how to use a fork and a knife."

Dramin looked at Mit'teem as he chewed. He set the knife down, narrowed his eyes, and flicked his middle finger across his cheek bone in the hand signal for screw-off.

Mit'teem put the back of his wrist against his mouth and laughed. Dramin cracked a smile as he picked the knife back up and went back at the steak.

"This orbital jump thing had better be good, _blue boy_ ," he said. Mit'teem straightened his shirt as he leaned back in his seat.

"It will be."

Dramin furrowed his brow as he loaded another fork full.

"Tell me about your war experiences."

"What specifically? The gruesome stuff?" Mit'teem asked. Dramin shook his head.

"No. How did you and your men travel? How did the air support work? What weapons did you use? All of that."

Mit'teem leaned back in the seat and put his hands behind his head with his forearms out and looked to the ceiling as he thought. Dramin snorted a laugh through his nose as he chewed. Mit'teem looked down at him.

"What?" he asked. Dramin shook his head and covered his mouth full of food.

"I have nowhere to talk about funny looking eyes, but I still can't believe your eyes actually glow."

Mit'teem rolled his red eyes. "It's bioluminescence. Get over it," he said with a smile. "You should see them in the bedroom."

"Oh don't worry, I've heard, Twenty-three."

Mit'teem furrowed his brow. "What?"

"They call you twenty-three." Dramin said. Mit'teem cocked his head and squinted at Dramin. He shrugged. "Figure it out, pal. Now tell me about how you fought your war." Mit'teem gave him a funny look before he continued.

"Well, we would arrive in a system on starships. They would maneuver into a position, and they would deploy landing craft with us in them."

"Landing craft?" Dramin asked as he stabbed potatoes and a piece of steak onto his fork.

"Yeah, picture a metal box with sliding doors on the sides with wings on top and guns on the sides," Mit'teem said, and Dramin nodded while he chewed. "We would land, establish a security perimeter as the landing craft would fly away, and we would do whatever we were there to do." He paused as he carefully picked what he wanted to say. "We would use groups of people to accomplish whatever kind of mission we were looking at. I usually had a medium size group with me. We used blaster rifles and pistols, and tactics were a real big deal."

"What were the titles of the different positions?"

"The guy out in front is called 'point'. He is armed with a medium blaster rifle. Behind him you have a heavily armed trooper right behind him, then the team leader with a medium weapon, another heavy, then two medium armed troopers."

"What determines who was in the point position?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem shrugged slightly.

"Whoever was freshest. We usually rotated through the entire group."

Dramin raise his eyebrows.

"So the team leader was out front?" he asked. Mit'teem nodded in confirmation. "What was your position?"

"I was usually team leader."

"So you led from the front?" Dramin asked.

"Yeah, of course," Mit'teem responded. Dramin nodded as he ate the last bit of his steak. Mit'teem just passed another test. Dramin had baited him into revealing how he treated himself versus his men. Being in the rotation was a sign of him treating himself equally with his guys as opposed to being 'better' in one way or another.

Dramin realized the nightmares Mit'teem had were not triggered by a thin skin or an inability to assimilate an awefuln sight but instead the idea that such things had been done to his men. The regret of seeing them hurt was what hurt him. Even now, all this time later, he had genuine concern for his men. That was a hallmark of a good leader. He watched Mit'teem as he handed his plate to the waitress and thanked her. He continued without revealing what he had just realized.

"How did you strategize against the droid's?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem cocked his head slightly. Dramin elaborated. "We always had a problem with the droids having extremely good strategies."

"Oh," Mit'teem said, "they become predictable. You begin to learn how to think like the droid. Unless you're up against one of their super command droids, they're never cunning."

Dramin thought about when they had been successful against the droid's and confirmed what Mit'teem had said.

"We had some success against them, but it wasn't until the Republic arrived that we were able to really defeat them."

Mit'teem furrowed his brow as he thought about how to take on droid's with edges weapons. He knew it was easy enough with a lightsaber, but he never considered with an actual sword.

"You guys use short swords, right?" He asked. Dramin nodded.

"We also have a broadsword called a 'Metlegff'," he said. "Those were effective."

"Interesting," Mit'teems said. He was interested in wielding those weapons at some point.

"Tell me about your men," he said. "What did you call them? Troops?"

"Troopers," Mit'teem corrected. "They were clone troopers." He put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. "They were the best."

"Aren't they all the same? If they're clones that means they share the same DNA sequence, right?" Dramin asked.

"Sure," Mit'teem said, "but they were all different. They had different personalities, different experiences. Different wounds. All of those inputs changed each of them and gave them as uniquely different personalities as you and I have."

"I think our personalities are more alike than not."

"You're a disciplined and skilled warrior."

"I would say the same about you," Dramin responded quickly.

"No," Mit'teem disagreed. "I'm just a college kid trying to find his way," Mit'teem said with diverted eyes. Dramin read Mit'teem as he examined the callouses on the palms of his hands. "That life is we'll behind me now."

Every time they interacted, Dramin could tell there was more to his blue friend. There was something that deeply troubled him, and whatever that was, it held him back. He looked back to his plate and began loading the last bit of vegetables onto his fork.

"What is it that has you down?" Dramin asked flatly. Mit'teem didn't respond as Dramin loaded his fork. He looked up to see Mit'teem looking at him. "Something serious that happened a while ago has you down." As Dramin watched Mit'teem, it was clear he was not being silent in a refusal to talk, but instead he didn't know how to respond. Dramin pointed his fork at him. "It's clear to me you're a good leader, you have a strategic and tactical mind, and you still have great concern for your men. Those are characteristics of a good leader. A good leader is an asset to any fighting force," he said conclusively. He put the fork full of vegetables in his mouth and chewed. After a moment of watching Mit'teem's reactionless pose, he swallowed and grabbed his glass of water. "So, what happened?"

Finally the statue-still Mit'teem came back to life with movement. He shifted slightly, looked to the table and ran his tongue between his teeth and upper lip.

"I was too aggressive."

Dramin swallowed the drink of water and watched him with a furrowed brow.

"When was that ever a bad thing?" he asked.

"The day I earned my ticket out of the Grand Army of the Republic."

Dramin set his glass down and looked back up to him.

"What did you do? Assassinate a head of State?" he asked. Mit'teem pressed his lips together and shrugged. Dramin pulled half a smile and shook his head as he took a bite of the piece of the toasted bread. "Always the mysterious."

"No," Mit'teem said. "That's actually exactly what happened," Mit'teem said looking into the table.

.

Mit 'teem had shocked himself. He did not mean to have said that...but there it was. He had just said it. He breathed and thought. He could feel Dramin examining him. Now was not the time, nor was this the man to lie to.

"It was after a really long and hard battle where I saw my troopers mutilated. Like intentionally mutilated. I found her," he said as he seemed to look through the table, "and I forced her to call off the attack, and when she refused," he paused looking into the table as he recalled the event. He tried to continue but is breath was not there, as if his body was trying to keep him from speaking it. He swallowed and drew another breath. "I tortured her until she complied." Dramin watched him stare into the table blankly as he relived it. "When she tried to go back on the agreement, I killed her before she could redeploy her forces." Then, Mit'teem blinked and looked up to him with a smile. "That's what got me kicked out."

.

Dramin watched Mit'teem's smile fade as he dropped his gaze to the table and then to his palms again.

"That's the 'Blue Wonder' for you," he said softly. Dramin studied Mit'teem for the long moment. That was it. Clearly Mit'teem had a lot of regret behind that action, and it truly bothered him. Dramin had found the root.

"Did you save lives?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem continued to pick at the callouses in the palms of his hands.

"Yes," he said weakly.

"Did you kill her to save the lives of your men?"

"Yes," Mit'teem whispered.

"Did they live to fight another day?" Dramin asked. Mit'teem nodded. "Maybe I am just a little too savage," Dramin said, "but I don't blame you." Mit'teem pulled a slight smile and exhaled a shallow laugh. "Look," Dramin said, and Mit'teem did. "You express concern for your men. You put your men ahead of yourself. Like I said, those are traits of the _best_ leaders. If they followed you, they knew you took care of them and led them well. In the long run, that's what matters."

Mit'teem looked back to his palms again and pulled a half smile.

"Flattery will get you far, yellow eyes," he said. Dramin went right past the joke.

"You helped your troopers in the field, right?"

"Of course," Mit'teem said.

"Then help them in our dreams."

.

As Mit'teem laid in his bed alone, he looked at the golden light of Coruscant pouring over the ceiling of his dorm room. He felt his thyroid cartilage slide under his skin as he swallowed, and he let out a breath. That day had been a lot heavier than he had expected. He did not expect to lay that much of himself open. Mit'teem realized he was getting good at telling the truth about his participation in the Grand Army of the Republic without alluding to his position as a Jedi, but Dramin was going to figure it out before long if he were not careful.

Mit'teem slid his right hand under his head as he looked at the ceiling. He had never considered that his dreams and guilt could have been based on his concern and care for his clones. It made sense, but he didn't really know what think about it. He ran his toung over his tipped canine teeth as he thought.

His concern was the right way to go. If you lead your men well and put their welfare first, you can build the best team and lead them to victory. That's what mattered.

This was all fascinating, but he was so very tired. It had been a long day, and his stomach was full. His breathing calmed, and as he slowly slipped into sleep, his legs twitched, and he felt himself begin to growl out his snores.

 _Oh,_ he thought in his lucid state as he slipped further and further, _this is what is sounds like..._

His vision was black.

Mit'teem was again in the cold abyss. He heard the voices. He heard the voices of his clones.

 _Commander,_ one said.

 _Where are you, Commander?_

 _You are our Jedi,_ another said.

"I'm here," he said as he looked, searching for them. He felt the fingers on his legs again, and he saw the hands. As they began to grip him again, he reached down, this time gripping their wrists. "Take my hand," he said. One released his ankle and grabbed his wrist in return. "Come on," he said reaching down with his other hand. "Come with me," he said. "I know the way."

More released his legs and grabbed his wrists, hands, and forearms. He pulled them up out of the abyss. As he pulled them into the light, as wounded as they were, he recognized every one of them. He brought them up to full height and examined them. He looked at them with a weary, unsure eye.

"Deadshot," he said, "Heavy, Renegade, Cue." He named them all, and they smiled at him one by one.

 _You're here, sir,_ Heavy said.

 _You came for us,_ Cue said.

"Of course I did," Mit'teem responded.

 _You are our Jedi._

"You're my men," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you," Mit'teem said as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Then another and another. He looked up to see all of his Troopers smiling at him with their hands on him, connected to him.

 _You are our Jedi. You're our brother. You led us well._ Mit'teem shook his head. _Sir,_ they all said. He looked up to them. _We could not have asked for more._

.

As Mit'teem momentarily lived in another world, the growling settled and smoothed away with every breath. As his eyes moved under his eyelids, the light from his eyes dimmed and did not creep out from between them. After a moment, he smiled and exhaled a heavy, relieved sigh. As he breathed several heavy, calm breaths, a tear gathered in his eye and finally rolled off his cheek.


	14. their Jedi

"Lead from the Front, and They Will Do Anything for You."

.

The padawan felt himself jostling. His empty stomach was being pressed into his spine, and he felt a hand over his lower back. The smell of burned wood and metal was in his nose, and the taste of metal was in his mouth. He opened his eyes to see the ground rushing past beneath him.

He was being carried at a very fast pace. He blinked and looked up. A deep boom rumbled through the air, and before he could realize it, a massive explosion erupted two-hundred yards behind them.

"Do you have the commander?" he heard a voice ask.

"I've got him, sir!" he heard the man carrying him respond. He pressed his left hand into the low back of the man's back and made himself a little more rigid. "LA-ATs maintaining fire!" the man said. He looked up to see one of the aforementioned landing craft spiraling out of the sky and crash.

Then he remembered. He was on Jefi. They were in the middle of a campaign.

"The enemy has crossed to waypoint alpha. They are being overrun," he heard. The man slowed.

"Put me down," he said. The clone carrying him slowed as they arrived at a mass of broken concrete.

"Hold on, sir," the clone said. He slowly lowered the padawan to the ground. He put his hands beneath him and used the Force to steady his landing. He gritted his teeth as a mud and soot covered clone ran to his side.

"Commander, you're alright," he said. The padawan steadied himself with his hands and sat up straight. The clone who had carried him reached his right hand out holding his lightsaber covered in mud and chips of stone. The padawan reached and took it.

"Thank you, Longshot. I'm fine," he said as he examined the weapon. He wiped the mud off the emitter face and saw it was dinged and nicked itself, but he was confident it would still work. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Not long, sir. You were able to free the men from the LA-AT's wreckage, but you passed out."

"Where are they?" the padawan asked.

"They're undercover, but we can't get a medivac in yet. We're working on a casevac," the clone reported. The padawan understood and categorized that information and shifted to the current threat, those big guns.

"Were you able to raise the fleet, Commander Grey?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. They are holding their turbo laser batteries priority for us, but their sensors are being jammed, and we don't know exactly where the guns are."

The padawan nodded his head and spit the blood out of his mouth. "How many remote scouts do we have left?" he asked.

"We have not used any," the clone responded.

"Three?"

"Yes, sir."

The padawan nodded. "Did you find the bearing of those rounds that are coming in?" he asked. Another sonic boom filled the air. The ground shook as one of the mammoth projectiles landed a safe five-hundred yards away.

"Yes sir," Gray responded. The padawan nodded his head.

"Alright. Launch all three. One to the extreme left of the position, one right at it, and one to the right. We need to triangulate their position so we can tell the cruisers where to fire."

"Right, commander," the clone said. The padawan reached out with the Force and felt his men on the battlefield. He had lost a lot, but the rest were engaged. He used the technique his master Plo Koon had taught him called Battle Meditation to feed his strength into his men. When he looked up, he saw the clones throw the drones into the air like javelins.

"Help me up, Longshot," he said. The clone did, and the padawan put an unsteady foot under himself. Having taken shrapnel and ricocheted hits, his armor was chipped and damaged. "How long before we can figure out where the fire is coming from?"

"No telling sir. Two, maybe three minutes," the clone said. The padawan nodded and looked tonthe other clones around him. Deadshot, set up your counter battery radar on top of this piece of cover." He gritted his teeth as he tried to stand straight. "With that, the drone scouts and me, we should be able to specifically figure out where this fire is coming from," he said.

"Yes, sir!" Deadshot said. The padawan shifted his eyes to Commander Gray.

"Commander, get everyone behind me. I'll cover us in the meantime." He looked into Longshot's helmet. "Help me to the top of this cover." The clone helped him around and onto the top of the upturned concrete slabs, and the Jedi Padawan carefully planted his feet. "Thank you, Longshot."

"Any time, Commander," he shouted. The padwan clenched his fists and dug into the Force. He felt everything that was around him. He felt the drones. He felt his clones. He felt the very nature around him. Then, they entered his view. It was not difficult to feel the approach of the mammoth projectiles as they closed at uncommonly high speeds. He reached into the Force and gathered it into his hands as if it were a blanket.

.

Their Jedi Commander stood atop their cover like a guardian. The clone watched him work his hands as if he were grabbing something. They felt the ground vibrate slightly as if a vehicle were approaching but there was none. He looked to the ground and saw little bits of rock and dirt movin toward the Jedi. Even the water puddles showed slight ripples across their surfaces. It surged in waves. They had felt this before. This was where their Jedi was using the magic of the Force. He moved his hands as if physically gathering the force and holding it.

He began to throw his hands in slow punches or martial arts moves. They all felt it through their armor as if something moved through them, almost like a wind. The deep boom of incoming projectiles announced over their heads again. This time they landed well away from them. The Jedi continued to do this. Longshot looked at his counter-battery radar display and saw they were being diverted off course. The Jedi was throwing the massive shells off their course.

Impressive, he thought. This is why they're in command. After a moment, Commander Cody, their lead clone crackled over the comms circuit.

"We've got it, sir."

"Give me my helmet, Commander!" the Jedi said. Longshot knew it had been lost. He pulled his off exposing his head. He had a duel mohawk going from hairline to hairline. Tatooed on his right temple was LS-2500 and small scars speckled the left side of his face where he had Yemen shrapnel the campaign prior.

"Commander!" he shouted over the sonic boom. "Yours was lost! Take mine!" he said as he tossed it up to the Padawan. The padawan caught it and looked at it and then shifted his red eyes down to Longshot.

"What's their call sign?" he asked. Commander Cody looked to him.

"Echo Foxtrot Nine One, sir!" Cody responded. The padawan looked back to Longshot.

"Thank you! I'll only be a minute, Longshot!" he said.

"No worries, Commander!" he shouted. The Jedi padawan put the helmet over his blue face and pulled it over his head. As he looked to the sky, Longshot noticed the padawan again looked exactly like one of them. He heard the padawan open the circuit over his wrist comm.

.

"Echo Foxtrot Nine One, this is ODC Six One Nine calling on Navy Sec, over" he said. The transmission crackled to life.

"Six One Nine, this is One Seven, be aware Nine One' communications has been disabled. We are assuming communications, send your request," the communications officer said over the network.

"One Seven, fire-mission, new target, grid-square five-five-six-one decimal five by nine-seven-one-four decimal three," he said over the circuit. He held his hands up again deflecting another barrage of massive projectiles. A ring of craters was being dug around them as the padawan equally deflected the projectiles. He listened to the transmission again as there was a lull in the massive fire.

"We copy your coordinates, Six One Nine. Be aware, our orbit will only let us remain unmasked for four minutes. After that we cross the terminator and will be out of view."

"Understood," he said quickly.

"What kind of Fire is your request?"

"Blue Rain," he responded. There was a pause.

"Are you sure, sir?" the comms officer asked over the circuit. Blue Rain was the pro-word for main battery fire. Those were anti-ship turbo-lasers that would carve the landscape up.

"I am certain," the padawan said.

"How many turbo-lasers, sir?"

"All of them. Give me a three-minute fire mission." Again there was a pause.

"What is your intent for the target, sir?" the communications officer asked. The padawan was getting very tired of the procedural aspect of all of this. What the hell did he think his intent was, to deter them?

"I want you to turn that grid square into glass," the padawan responded. There was a long pause before the transmission opened again.

"Your trajectory will be danger close above your position, Commander," the ship warned him.

"Understood." The padawan deflected another salvo if the super heavy projectiles. Dirt and stone sprinkled down on him as he waited for the ship to eat back with him. "Commander, get those drones two thousand meters up. I want them to be able to perform battle Damage Assessment."

"Aye, sir," Gray said. The drones nosed up and gained altitude fast.

After a moment, the transmission opened back up. In the background, the padawan heard the powerful discharge of the Venator-class attack cruiser's turbo laser batteries opening fire.

"Stand by," the ship's communications officer said. "Plasma down-range." The padawan looked over his shoulder and saw tiny blue star bursts in the sky.

"Stand by, boys," the Padawan said. "Here it comes." Very quickly, though they drew into a long line of blaster bolts. They entered the atmosphere with a shock ring like a ripple in a pond, and they approached at an incredible speed. The clouds glowed and then flashed a bright blue as the bolts pierced through them.

.

Longshot covered his ears as the turbo laser bolts roared overhead. The sound was more deafening than the sound of the big gun projectiles. The entire landscape was illuminated in a bright blue as the blaster bolts passed over them and burned holes through the atmosphere.

Longshot looked up to see the blaster bolts passing behind their Commander's head trailed by wisps of burned, orange flame as he stood there, covered in the same mud as they, suffering the same wounds, fighting with them, defending them.

Now, he was getting some back for them. He was standing for them. He was their leader.

He was their Jedi.


	15. Preview: The Siege of Jefi

The Siege of Jefi

"Courage Makes Heroes, but Trust Builds Friendship."

Dramin stood in the dark interior of the craft and listened to his breath echo inside the helmet. He found himself in the loading bay of a space ship that had just been decompressed. He was clad in an armored life support suit that was spotted with symmetrically positioned lights. He stood almost unsure of what to do. He knew he had to move. He knew he had to act. The knew he had to do _something_. Suddenly, an indicator light turned from blue to red, and two rotating yellow lights on the far bulkhead lit and came to life.

"Opening loading ramp," one of the craft's crewman said over his communications circuit. He grabbed a hand hold attached to the bulkhead and squeezed with an usually tight grip. He planted his feet and looked straight ahead at the back of the craft.

He felt the deck vibrate as some kind of locking mechanism unlocked. His eye was attracted to movement as the back of the craft began to open like a giant ramp from the overhead down to the deck. As it opened, the blackness of space dotted with tiny white stars was revealed. He let out an unconscious breath as he saw the absolute depth of space for the first time.

"Oh my God," he said to himself as a bolt of adrenaline rushed through his body.

As the ramp descended, the curvature of the planet they orbited came into view. It was the golden color of Coruscant. The solar system's sun was behind them, and the plant's terminator cut across the planet's surface leaving one side bright and brilliant and the other dark but detailed with the large, concentric circles of light outlining cities and rays of dotted light connecting each to the other.

He unconsciously let out another shallow breath as the reality of his situation just became evident. He was one-hundred kilometers off the surface of a planet with nothing between him and a ledge.

Dramin felt a slap on the shoulder and looked to his right as Mit'teem's shorter stature stepped into his view. Dramin looked at Mit'teem standing in his own suit and shook his head. "You used to do this all the time?" Dramin asked.

"Oh, yeah," Mit'teem said behind the visor of this helmet. "They didn't call us the Mud Jumpers for nothing." The voice crackled over their internal communications network again.

"Ten seconds," it said. Dramin could see Mit'teem's cheeks gather under his eyes in a broad smile through the helmet's visor.

"Easy day," Mit'teem said.

Mit'teem noticed the light flashed off Dramin's eyes as he looked around uncommonly quickly. He was fighting himself on the inside. There was no way Dramin was not going to jump, but he was just uncommonly unsettled. Mit'teem put his hand on Dramin's shoulder and looked up at him. "You can do this." The overhead indicator shifted from red to green in the voice crack across the communication that work again.

"Go," the jump master said. Dramin watched Mit'teem backed to the edge door

"Follow me," Mit'teem said as he stretch his arms out to his sides. "I know the way." Then, Dramin saw Mit'teem literally fall backwards out of the craft into space.

"Oh my God," Dramin said, "you have to be kidding me."

After a moment, Dramin gritted his teeth and just did it. As if he were on a track, he took a starter's stance and fired his legs at the start of the race. With the _boom, boom, boom_ of his plastisteel and rubber boots, he ran toward the ramp, leapt out, and instantly found himself in space.


End file.
